Your Worst Fears
by LadySolitaire83
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. Sherlock spends the night with Molly and gets her pregnant. Molly fears he'll reject her and her baby. What happens when Sherlock finds out? Rating for smut and strong language. (Please visit my profile for a couple of notes about this story.)
1. Chapter 1

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: Welcome to my first multi-chapter fic!**

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

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**Chapter 1**

June 15th. One year ago today, Sherlock Holmes jumped to his death from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

Only he didn't die. With the help of Dr Molly Hooper, he survived what was nationally dubbed as the Fall. Shortly after Molly administered the antidote to the drug used to slow Sherlock's pulse, he left to dismantle Moriarty's global network of criminals. That was the last time she saw him.

Now, one year later, the media was running archive footages and images of the consulting detective. Molly knew that various newspapers, magazines, and TV networks have reached out to Dr John Watson, Mrs Hudson, and Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. All of them declined comment. Even Barts was swarmed with reporters who tried to get her to comment on the anniversary. She cursed Kitty Riley for releasing her name as Sherlock Holmes's favourite pathologist. The media even speculated that she was more than his pathologist. _I wish_, she mused as she got in the cab. She gave the middle-aged driver her address and leaned back against the soft leather seat. She preferred taking the Tube, but she needed to get away from those vultures as fast as she could and this cab happened to approach.

She had had a difficult day. First, a family of four, including a four-month-old baby girl, came into the morgue. She cried for twenty minutes in her office once she finished the post-mortem of the infant. Then her co-workers all chose to corner her in the cafeteria or in the hallways and ask her if she really dated Sherlock. One of them even had the audacity to ask if he was great in bed. "Oh, God. For the millionth time, no! Our relationship was strictly professional," was her constant reply. No one believed her, especially because they knew how much she fancied him. Now she was being hounded by reporters because Sherlock Bloody Holmes favoured her over other pathologists at Barts. So all she wanted to do was go home, order pizza, and drown her sorrows with red wine.

"Fuck," Molly mumbled to herself as they neared her building. Kitty Riley herself stood outside with her iPhone (which she doubted Kitty could afford a year ago) in her hand and a burly blonde man with a camera by her side. With a sigh, she paid the driver and got out of the cab.

The reporter approached her as she walked towards the building's main entrance. "Well, well. If it isn't Sherlock Holmes's favourite pathologist." Kitty gave her a smile full of arrogance and triumph as she attempted to block her way. She sidestepped the redhead, but the photographer stood in front of her and snapped a photo of her annoyed and disgusted face. She walked away from him and entered the building. _Lord knows what that bitch would print even if I said nothing_, she thought as she rode the elevator to the fourth floor. She longed for Sherlock's return so that she could see Kitty's face as it fell and the arrogance replaced with shame or embarrassment.

_I wonder how he is_, she thought. She hadn't heard from him in a year, even though he promised to text her every few months or so. She wondered if he was still alive, if he felt lonely, if he missed her. _He probably doesn't_, she told herself as she walked towards her front door.

Toby pressed his side against her trouser leg once she entered her flat. "Hi, Toby!" she greeted the cat as she petted him. "Did you have a good day today?" He meowed in response. She dropped her work bag on the floor and her purse on the small table beside the door. She carried her mail into the kitchen and placed them on the dining table. She refilled Toby's food and water bowls. She then grabbed a wine glass from the cupboard and poured her favourite Merlot into the glass. Holding the wine glass in her left hand, she sat down at the table. She went through her mail and found the usual bills, statements, and junk mail. She froze when she reached the last item.

It was a postcard. It had a photo of the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland. Molly immediately knew who sent the postcard. She turned it over and smiled at the short note.

_With your moderate intelligence, you should be able to get the joke._

Molly saw neither a return address nor a name. But she had seen enough of Sherlock's handwriting to recognise it. Plus, the note's backhanded compliment cemented the identity of the sender.

She brought the postcard to her nose and smelled it, not really expecting to catch a whiff of Sherlock's scent. To her surprise and delight, she could still smell his eucalyptus aftershave, as well as a hint of cigarette smoke. _Can't blame him for smoking again_, she thought. _At least it's not cocaine. I hope._

She took a sip of her wine as she stared at Sherlock's messy handwriting. She had missed trying to decipher his notes when he was in a hurry. She even missed his backhanded compliments. She missed his brilliant deductions. She missed the ever-changing colour of and the intensity in his eyes. She missed him.

Her thoughts returned to the night of the Fall. As she waited for the antidote to take effect, she gazed at him. She had wiped off the blood trickling down his head, although he still had a few cuts and bruises on his face. Despite the minor injuries and the few bruised ribs, he was fine and still beautiful. Knowing that he was going to wake up soon, she snapped a photo of him on her phone. Sure enough, his eyes fluttered open a few moments later. She couldn't be sure, but he likely never knew what she did. Or that she had kept that photo for a year. She took her phone from her pocket and scrolled until she found the picture. "I miss you," she whispered as she stared at Sherlock's peaceful and serene face. _When are you coming home?_

She finished her wine and called in the order for chicken BBQ pizza. She turned off the telly (a _Doctor Who_ rerun) when the tall, cute guy delivered the pizza. She moved to the kitchen to work on her journal article as she ate. She had been working for a few hours when she heard a firm knock on her door.

She looked up with a slight gasp. _Who could it be_, she wondered. She wasn't expecting anyone. Her friends would have called or texted her before coming by. She stood up and slowly walked towards her front door. Upon reaching it, she hesitated for a moment before looking through the peephole.

She could see a flash of what looked like a white shirt partially covered by a dark coat. _Who wears a coat in mid-June?_ She raised her eyes and her gaze ended on a pale neck and a pair of Cupid's bow lips.

She pulled away from the peephole with a gasp. _What the hell is he doing here?_

"Molly? Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah. Just a sec." She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Sherlock sauntered in, his hands clasped behind him. He looked her up and down. "Long day at work?"

Of course he saw, she thought. "Yeah. Family died in a car accident. There was a baby girl," she explained as she watched him sweep her flat with his intimidating eyes. "Tea?"

He nodded, his eyes trained on her. She had changed into a purple long-sleeved shirt that clung to her curves and a pair of black pyjamas with skull prints. She raised her eyebrow at him. The corner of his mouth raised in his signature smirk and he looked away. She went to the kitchen and put the kettle on.

She was about to reach for mugs from the cupboard when large, firm hands on her hips stopped her from doing so. "Sh-Sherlock? W-what are y-you doing?"

She felt hot breath on the back of her neck. She stiffened when she felt wet lips land on the spot where her neck and right shoulder met. Then those lips moved to the other side of her neck and sucked on it. She felt him turn her hips slightly to the left and then his lips sucked on her pulse point. She could no longer stop the moan from escaping her lips. He sucked on her neck again, his left hand moving from her hip to her breast, cupping and massaging it through her shirt and bra. "Sh-Sherlock…" she moaned.

She finally whirled around and faced Sherlock. She could barely see the blue-green in his eyes. _Dilated pupils_, she observed to herself. She raised her hand to his throat and lightly pressed the pads of her forefinger and middle finger on his pulse point. _Elevated pulse_, she noted as he inhaled sharply at her touch. She knew she didn't have to look down, but curiosity got the better of her. _Tent in his trousers_, she thought with a raised eyebrow. Her gaze returned to Sherlock's eyes. It had the look of pure lust - something she had never seen, something that she never thought she would see.

Then his mouth captured hers. It took only a moment for her to return the kiss with a passion matching his. _Oh, hell_, she thought. _It's now or never._ She pushed his Belstaff coat off his shoulders. He shrugged it off without breaking their kiss and threw it on the chair. She started popping the buttons of his white dress shirt as he pushed his hands under her shirt and caressed her sides. She felt his hands stop when they reached her bra-clad breasts. One hand cupped her breast, while the other rolled the hardening nipple on the other breast. With a gasp of pleasure, she broke their kiss and shed her shirt, throwing it on the floor. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and threw it aside, not caring that it landed on the floor. Her hands immediately caressed his pale, hard chest. She revelled in the feel of his light ginger chest hair under her hands. She let out another gasp of pleasure as he bent down to kiss her jaw, then her throat, and then her collarbone. He pushed a bra strap down her shoulder and kissed the exposed skin. She felt his lips move back to her neck and suck on it. She moaned loudly when he lightly bit on her skin and then laved it with his tongue.

With a grunt of impatience, he put his hands on her buttocks and sat her on the counter. He then pushed her bra down and wrapped his lips around one hard nipple. She threw her head back at this and put her hands on the back of his head, pulling his mouth closer to her skin. He gave the other nipple the same attention as he rolled the still wet and hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Then his mouth returned to hers, claiming it in a rough kiss. His tongue pushed between her lips, demanding access, and she opened her mouth, her own tongue meeting his. She felt one hand return to her hip, while the other hand parted her thighs. She felt him move forward so that he stood between them, his arousal pressing against her. Then she felt his fingers fumble to remove her bra. And then it was off and she had the vague memory of it landing on her laptop. Their mouths crashed against each other again, until she broke away. "Bedroom," Molly rasped.

Growling, Sherlock carried her off the kitchen counter and into her dimly lit bedroom. He gently placed her in the middle of the bed and stood at its foot, gazing down at her. She met his gaze as she removed her pyjamas, leaving her in her skull knickers. He kicked off his shoes and removed his socks. He unbuttoned his trousers and pushed them down his hips. His silk boxers joined his trousers on the floor a moment later. God, he's really built like a Greek god, she thought as she slipped her knickers off and threw them on the floor. She propped herself up with her elbows on the mattress to get a better look at his full nakedness.

For a long moment, Sherlock and Molly stared at each other's naked form, both admiring and committing each curve and exposed skin to memory.

And then Sherlock finally moved to join her on the bed, his hard and lean body crawling over her small and curvy body. His mouth captured hers in a gentle kiss, surprising her. He bent his head to lick her nipples as his hand moved downwards. She moaned when he cupped her mound. She was sure he could feel how wet she already was. She gasped when he slipped one long finger inside, his thumb pressed on her sensitive nub. His mouth swallowed another moan when a second finger pushed into her. She met each thrust with her hips, their lips never leaving each other.

She groaned into his mouth when his fingers slipped out of her. The groan of disappointment was replaced by a loud moan when he entered her. He stilled as she adjusted to the feel of him being inside her. It had been too long since the last time and she was tight. "Molly…" he whispered, his voice strangled. She looked at his eyes and saw gentleness, affection, and desire that she had never seen on those blue-green eyes before. The look was gone in a moment, but it was burned in her memory.

She nodded and he started moving, thrusting in and out, always filling her to the hilt. She arched up and met each thrust. They eventually found a common rhythm. Countless moans and grunts filled the room. He shifted slightly and hit the spot that made her moan louder and longer than her previous moans. "Fuck… Sherlock…" she whispered as she neared her climax. Then she felt his thumb back on her nub. Not long after, she tumbled over the edge, her toes curling, her back arching up. A few thrusts later, he followed her over the edge, shuddering, whispering her name over and over again.

Panting, he collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her long brown hair, her hands buried in his curls. Once their heartbeats began to return to normal, he withdrew from her and laid beside her. She felt an arm slip beneath her, urging her to roll over. She laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. His arm wrapped around her sweaty naked body, while his free hand rested on his stomach. She watched as he turned his head towards her and gave her an exhausted yet satisfied smile. Then he kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight, Molly." For only the second time in her life, she saw peace and serenity on his face.

She smiled up at him. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

Shortly after, she drifted off to sleep, warm in his embrace, with a smile on her face.

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_So what do you think? Terrible? Decent? Good?_


	2. Chapter 2

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

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**Chapter 2**

The sun was shining through Molly's bedroom window when she woke up the next morning. She was lying on her side and her pink comforter was draped over her naked body. Although she didn't remember sliding under her comforter, she remembered what happened between her and Sherlock. She sighed happily as she turned to lie on her back, hoping to see him still sleeping or, more preferably, ready for some more lovemaking.

The space next to her was empty. She sat up, covering up her naked breasts with the comforter, and listened for the sound of the shower. Nothing. She strained to listen for any sound in the kitchen or her sitting room. Nothing, save for Toby's meows. She rose from her bed and wrapped her deep purple dressing gown around her nakedness. She opened the door to the sitting room, expecting to see him sitting on her couch, his fingers steepled under his chin, busy in his mind palace.

But he wasn't in the sitting room. He wasn't in the kitchen either. The only pieces of evidence of their encounter the previous night were her nightshirt on the floor and her bra on her laptop.

She looked for a note as she picked up her discarded clothes. Nothing. She grabbed her mobile phone from the kitchen table, hoping for a curt text, at least. However, the only text she received was from Mary, John's wife and her best friend, asking her to meet up for lunch.

She barely had time to slump down on the chair before the tears fell. She clutched her bra and shirt as she wept, her sobs becoming louder as she went on. "He used me," she whispered to no one in particular. He had used her before, to get access to dead bodies for his cases and body parts for his experiments. She had let him because lives were at stake and dangerous criminals were on the loose.

But this was worse. He used her body for his release. She had thought he was a virgin because John accidentally blurted it out once. But the Sherlock she slept with was no virgin. Maybe he _was_ intimate with Irene Adler. But she was dead now. So he sought her out and slept with her. He knew she could never say no to him. _That fucking arrogant selfish bastard_, she bitterly thought.

He slept with her, but he didn't love her. He treated her like a whore. She gave him her heart and her body. However, he gave her nothing in return.

She pulled her hair out as she cried some more. _He may be a selfish bastard, but you are a fucking idiot, Molly Hooper_, she chastised herself. _You let him take this from you. You slept with him even when you knew he didn't love you. Fucking idiot._

_What if I got pregnant?_ She abruptly raised her head in horror and covered her mouth with her hand. She was on the Pill, but she knew it wasn't 100% effective as a contraceptive. With her luck, she might already be pregnant. Fresh tears rolled off her cheeks. _How the hell could I raise a child by myself? Who would take care of the baby while I'm at work?_

She sat up straighter. _What would Sherlock say?_ She knew he would find out. Mycroft would tell him. Even if his brother didn't, he would find out anyway. He was Sherlock Holmes. He might be a heartless, selfish bastard, but he could deduce anyone. He would know if she were pregnant in less than ten seconds.

But how would he react? Would he embrace her? _Probably not._ Would he tell her that he would be there? She snorted bitterly through her tears at the thought. Would he nod and say that he would try to be a father although it would be difficult? _Possible._ Would he reject her and the baby? She felt a sharp stab of pain in her heart. It would be cruel, but it would be likely, given who Sherlock Holmes was. He didn't do feelings and sentiment. Having a child would require enormous amounts of those.

"Oh, God. He's going to reject us," she whispered as more tears flowed. She repeated those words like a chant as she cried the morning away.

The chorus of Adele's "Chasing Pavements" interrupted Molly's sobs. She looked at her mobile that was resting beside her laptop. She placed the clothes that she was holding on top of her research papers. As she reached for her mobile, she realised that her other hand was on her stomach. She used that hand to wipe the tears on her face.

She cleared her throat before answering. "Hi, Mary."

"Are you all right? You weren't answering my texts!" Her friend sounded worried.

"Texts? I only remember the first one this morning." She put the phone on speaker and swiped the display from top to bottom. Sure enough, Mary had texted her ten times, all of them asking if she were OK and if she wanted to go to lunch with her. She put the phone back off speaker and raised it to her ear again. "Sorry, Mary. I'm not feeling so well today. I must have drifted off on the couch."

"You do sound sick. Did you catch the bug that was going around the hospital?" Mary, perceptive as always, caught the sound of congestion in her nose but failed to catch the signs that she had been crying. Molly wasn't sure if she should be happy or sad about that.

"I must have. Must be when Tyler sneezed while he was assisting me in Mrs Knight's post-mortem." Tyler was one of the interns assigned to her. He had been suffering from a bad cold for the past three weeks.

Mary tsk-tsked. "So lunch is a no-go then?" She could hear the disappointment in her friend's voice.

"Sorry. Rain check? Or you could nurse me back to health?" She didn't want her best friend to see her like this, but she needed to act like she did. Mary would know something was wrong if she came over. And she would know that a bug going around the city wasn't the reason. In their fifteen years of friendship, Mary knew all of Molly's moods. She would try to coax the truth out of her. But she wasn't sure if she was ready to tell her about Sherlock yet. Plus she, like the rest of the world, didn't know that Sherlock was alive.

"I'll take the rain check. I don't want to be a carrier of disease to my girls." Mary was an OB-GYN at Barts.

"Did you and John have a row?" Despite the pain in her heart, Molly smiled at the idea that her best friend wanted to hang out with her because she was upset with her husband.

Mary laughed. "How did you know?"

"Just a hunch," she replied. She finally got up and went to drain the now useless water in the kettle.

"Mycroft Holmes invited us to dinner with him and Sherlock's mother. My lovely husband doesn't want to go," Mary began. Molly winced at another sharp pain in her chest. "It is Sherlock's death anniversary, right?"

"Yesterday, actually." Her voice broke slightly. She coughed to cover it up and hoped that Mary was too annoyed at John to notice. "That's not like Mycroft. Remembering his brother on his death anniversary would be giving in to sentiment." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. Until Mycroft himself told me that his mother insisted on it. She's still broken over his death." Mary either didn't notice or simply ignored her bitter tone. "Oh!" Molly dreaded her best friend's next words. "Why don't you come with us instead? I'm sure we can both persuade John to go to the dinner. I don't think Mycroft would mind. What do you say?"

"I'm sick, remember?" She couldn't face Mycroft. He was the only other person who knew about Sherlock being alive. Plus he had the same gift (or curse) as his brother. He would know within seconds that he spent the night with her.

Mary sighed in disappointment. "Right. Sorry." Molly could hear a male voice in the background although she couldn't hear his words. "You know what? My lovely husband has finally come to his senses." Molly sent a silent thank-you to whom her father used to call the Big Guy Upstairs. "You sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I would if I could. But I just can't." That wasn't a lie. "Have a lovely time though. Say hi to Mycroft for me."

"Will do. Hope you feel better tomorrow. Bye!"

Moments after she ended the call, her phone rang again. "Hello, Mycroft."

"Dr Hooper." That was always how he greeted her since he kidnapped her shortly after meeting Sherlock and offered her money to spy on him. "I would like to invite you to dinner at our mansion to remember my late brother." Mycroft properly inviting her to anything was new. He usually just sent a car and rarely gave a curt phone call. _His mother must be in the room_, she speculated.

"I'm not well, Mycroft."

"Anthea will pick you up from your flat within the hour and will accompany you to the shop of your choice," he continued in his usual calm and cool voice as if she didn't speak. "You will choose an appropriate dress for meeting my mother. Then you will be driven straight to our mansion." He lowered his voice. "I need to speak with you."

Molly sighed. He really didn't give her a choice. "Fine." At least Mary would be delighted. "Has John called you?"

"No, but I expect him and his wife anyway. Very few people could resist my mother." Then he hung up without another word.

_So that's why John finally agreed_, she thought. Molly realised from which parent Sherlock got the gift of charm that he could turn on and off.

She let out a deep sigh before she quickly tidied up the kitchen table. She refilled Toby's food bowl and dropped her shirt and bra into the hamper on the way to the bathroom. She took a long shower and tried not to think about Sherlock's hands on her body. She dressed in a dark blue button-down blouse and black knee-length skirt. She pulled out a tote bag and packed a pair of nude stockings, strapless bra, her favourite pair of kitten heels, her cosmetics bag, and a small black purse for her keys, wallet, and mobile.

Five minutes later, Molly was sitting next to Anthea on the way to an exclusive and posh dress shop. Mycroft's assistant helped her pick out a dark green knee-length cocktail dress. She stopped Molly before she could pay for the dress. "It's taken care of."

"Of course." She should have expected that from the start.

Molly and Anthea went back into the car and drove to the Holmes mansion. Molly's mobile phone buzzed.

We're on our way to the dinner party. Mycroft says you're coming too? - MW

Yes. Mycroft sort of bullied me into it. Even bought me a dress. - Molly

Nice. You must be really special to Sherlock. - MW

I don't think so. Probably just because I was his favourite pathologist? Probably Mummy Holmes just wants to know if the rumours are true. - Molly

Or she probably wants to see for herself why you were his favourite. - MW

That's because no one else was willing to work with him. The 'favourite' bit was just an exaggeration on Kitty Riley's part. - Molly

I still agree with John that Sherlock fancied you, even if he probably never realised it himself. - MW

Doubt it. I was just the girl who gave him everything he wanted because he knew I could never resist him. - Molly

But he kept going to you. I love you to death and you're an excellent pathologist. But surely there are other competent pathologists at Barts or at other hospitals? - MW

According to him, they're not as competent as I am. That was probably Sherlockian for 'I am easy to manipulate'. - Molly

That's what I really don't understand. You knew he was just manipulating your feelings to get what he wanted. Why did you let him? - MW

We've been over this before. I loved him. And I am an idiot. - Molly

No, you're not! You were just in love with the most brilliant and exasperating man who ever lived. - MW

No, Mary. Trust me. I am an idiot. - Molly

"We're here," Anthea interrupted Molly's increasingly bitter thoughts. She looked up and saw a beautiful mansion amidst an expansive estate. She couldn't help but think back to her childhood fantasies of being a princess. The Holmes mansion was very close to her girlish idea of a royal castle.

She looked at the two other cars that pulled in at the driveway. She and Anthea exited the car at the same time that the Watsons and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson exited their respective cars. Mary wore a snow white calf-length dress and John wore a navy blue suit over a white dress shirt. Mrs Hudson wore a deep purple dress and Lestrade wore a grey suit.

Mary spotted her and waved. She approached her best friend with a smile. "Look who's suddenly feeling better," Mary teased with a huge smile.

"Well, Mycroft Holmes buying you a beautiful dress can cure any illness." She hugged her best friend and kissed her on the cheek.

"You look nice, Molly," Mrs Hudson observed with a smile. They gave each other a peck on the cheek.

"So do you, Mrs Hudson." While she greeted the rest of the guests, she saw Mycroft and an elegant lady in a sombre black dress standing by the wide front doors from the corner of her eye.

Mary held her hand as the five guests approached the hosts. She gave Mycroft and his mother a small smile as they neared them. She received an almost imperceptible nod from him and, to her surprise, a warm smile from the woman.

Mrs Holmes greeted the Watsons first. She hugged John for several moments, whispering something to him. She gave Mary a kiss on both cheeks as John tried to discreetly wipe the moisture in his eyes. "You look lovely, Mary," she said, her voice melodious and warm, a stark contrast to her sons'. Then she kissed Mrs Hudson's cheeks. "Hello, Martha!"

Molly felt Mycroft's presence next to her. "She was Sherlock's favourite nanny when he was five," he explained in a low voice. "She was the only one who could make him listen to anybody. Until a year ago, she would write to Mummy about Sherlock's antics every three months or so. As far as I know, he never figured it out. He also made sure that her abusive husband met his end in Florida."

She nodded. She guessed as much. She couldn't see why she needed to know these things about Mrs Hudson. But it was still nice to get a bit of insight to the relationship between Sherlock and his landlady. "You said you needed to talk to me?" she asked in the same low voice. She kept her eyes fixed on Mrs Holmes, who was flirting with Lestrade.

"After dinner. We don't want them to know who spent the night at your flat." He guided her towards his mother, as she tried to control the flush on her cheeks. _I fucking knew it_, she thought.

"Dr Hooper!" Mrs Holmes met her with both arms outstretched towards her. She had the same blue-green eyes, the same thick curly hair, the same sharp cheekbones, and the same Cupid's bow lips as her youngest son. Molly found herself enveloped in a warm hug. She reluctantly returned the embrace, watching Mary, John, and Lestrade's confused looks. Mrs Hudson only smiled at her.

"H-hello, Mrs Holmes. How do you do?" Even though her resemblance to Sherlock brought back the pain in her heart, Molly couldn't help but return the unexpectedly warm welcome with her customary politeness.

Mrs Holmes released her and laughed. "Darling, call me Violet." Then the look of mirth on her face was replaced by a look of sadness and regret. "I wish Sherlock had married you before he died. I would have had the loveliest and the kindest daughter-in-law any mother could have."

She blushed. "T-thank you, b-but we were never t-together. I was just a work... friend."

"I am not sure he saw you merely as a colleague. Well, judging by what he said about you and how often he talked about you, I think he had feelings for you."

"Feelings? He never had any romantic feelings for me." Even Mycroft was taken aback by the bitterness in her tone. Violet, on the other hand, only smiled.

"Dear, my son valued very few things above a clever mind and trustworthiness. You have both. Plus he never denied that you were more than his favourite pathologist. Actually, he liked calling you his pathologist. Not just his favourite, his and his alone." She laughed again. "He was always very possessive. He got it from his father, I think." Violet chuckled as she gazed at the stunned looks on Molly, Mary, John, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade's faces. "Whoops! Thank goodness Sherly wasn't here to see the looks on your faces." The merry smile left her face for a moment. Then it returned as she looked at Molly. "Right then! Follow us to the dining room." She took Molly's hand and turned to her eldest son. "Mycroft, tell Gavin that we're ready to dine."

Mycroft nodded. "Yes, Mummy." Then he entered the house with Anthea, who suddenly materialised beside him.

They shared stories about Sherlock during the meal. Violet told them about the time when he wanted to be a pirate. She told them that he persuaded Mycroft to build him a miniature ship beside his favourite oak tree. He also wore his pirate clothes every day and would only take them off at bedtime. Mrs Hudson told them more anecdotes about Sherlock's childhood and teenage years. John told them funny or interesting stories about their cases. Lestrade or Molly would occasionally interject with missing or additional information.

Amidst her laughter, Molly wondered if their child would want to be a pirate or would be as imaginative as Sherlock was. She wondered if the child would be as clever as Sherlock and if he or she would inherit his deductive powers. She glanced at Mycroft who was sitting at the end of the table. He was watching her, his face inscrutable.

Two hours later, the meal was finished and they moved to the parlour for tea. Molly sat next to Mary on the leather sofa. Mycroft had not pulled her out of the parlour to speak with her. He stayed in the room, though he rarely spoke and only smiled when the rest of them howled in laughter.

An hour later, they were taking leave of their hosts. Violet hugged them before they entered their cars. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade's car left first and then John and Mary's. Molly waved to her best friend as their car left the driveway.

Violet held Molly's hands in hers as the latter said goodbye. "I really wish you became my daughter-in-law. I think we would have gotten along well." She paused, tears welling up in her blue-green eyes. She looked like she was fighting hard not to cry.

"I wish that too," Molly said as the older woman took time to compose herself. "I loved him from the start and I'm afraid I will always love him."

Violet smiled. "Is it all right with you if we kept on touch? I would like it very much if I could call you or visit you every now and then." Her hands moved to cup the younger woman's cheeks. "You are the daughter I never had."

Molly grinned. "Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. Of course, it's perfectly all right. Mycroft has my number and address, but I could give it to you before I leave."

"It's all right, dear. Mycroft will give me your contact information." She then turned to her eldest, who stood just off to Molly's side. "Won't you, son?"

"I will, Mummy." He nodded at Violet.

She turned back to Molly. "I'm glad that's settled. Mycroft will drop you off at your flat. Also he mentioned that he needs to speak with you." Violet pulled her in for a hug, which she reciprocated. "Martha told me how cruel he was to you. I apologise for my son's horrendous behaviour."

Molly wondered how Violet would react if she knew how truly horrendous Sherlock had been. "Apology accepted. I think most of the time he didn't know he was being insensitive and cruel. Thank God for John, because towards the end he started to have at least the decency to look contrite. It didn't really matter because I always forgave him anyway." She didn't know, though, if she could forgive his actions from the previous night.

"For that I am thankful. He needed someone like you in his life."

"S-someone like m-me?" She pulled away from Sherlock's mother.

The older woman smiled. "Yes. Someone who would always be there for him. Someone who always believed that he was a good man. Someone who loved him despite his many flaws. Someone who trusted him and whom he trusted in return. Someone who would never resent him. Someone who could see the man he was and would have been."

"B-but he had J-John and…"

"Yes," she interrupted Molly, "but they were more like brothers. And I know that my son liked women, despite what he used to say and despite the ridiculous rumours."

"H-he liked women?" She confirmed that last night. But his mother said 'women' - plural.

Violet looked a little confused at her question. "Well, yes. He never dated or expressed interest in any woman, but he noticed attractive women. He just never trusted their emotions and sentimentality. He always thought sentiment clouded the mind. You and I both know that's not always true." She cupped Molly's face in her hands. "But he was most attracted to a clever mind. And you, Dr Molly Hooper, top of the class in Cambridge and top pathologist in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the UK, have one of the cleverest minds my son ever met." She smiled at the younger woman.

Molly smiled back at her, although she didn't believe that Sherlock was ever attracted to her. "T-thank you."

Mycroft cleared his throat behind Molly. "Pardon me, Mummy. But Dr Hooper needs to work tomorrow and it is getting late."

Violet laughed. "Of course, of course. I'm sorry, Molly."

She smiled. "It's all right. It was wonderful meeting you. I didn't expect you to be so… warm."

The older woman laughed again, this time louder and merrier. She glanced at her eldest son. "No one does, dear, no one does." She hugged Molly again. "Goodnight, Molly dear."

"Goodnight, Violet."

Moments later, Mycroft and Molly sat in the car. "Why was he in your flat last night?" Mycroft began.

She closed her eyes for a moment. "I-I don't know. He, uh, he didn't say much." She knew that he knew. She couldn't bear to say it because she knew it would hurt her. She wanted him to allude to it so she didn't have to tell him that she slept with his brother.

"When he left your building at around one o'clock in the morning, he was disheveled. Has he finally given in to carnal desires?" His eyebrow was raised.

Molly didn't answer. She didn't think she needed to. Mycroft knew.

"Well? Did you use precautions?"

_Fuck_, she thought. "I'm on the Pill." She couldn't look at him. He would see that she was scared and why she was scared.

"You and I both know the Pill isn't always effective. What will you do if you were pregnant?"

She turned to him. "I'll keep it and raise it, with or without Sherlock. What do you expect me to do? Do you think I won't be able to raise a child by myself? My dad did it after my mum died. Why the hell can't I?" She became angrier and more passionate as she went on.

"I never said you cannot," Mycroft responded, his voice and his entire demeanour as calm and collected as he always appeared to be. "I merely asked about your plan. Actually, I think you will be an excellent mother." He smirked. "If you can handle my brother, then you can handle any child thrust upon you to care for."

Molly was shocked into silence. "OK," she said. "Thanks, I think." She sighed. "I'm not expecting Sherlock to be a jubilant father-to-be when he finds out. In fact, I expect him to be absolutely terrified and may even reject us. That's not going to matter, although I really hope he would be in his son or daughter's life somehow."

Mycroft nodded. "I see. In case you are carrying my brother's child, I offer you a sufficient sum for the child's needs. In addition, I will set up a trust fund for the child that he or she can access upon turning 18. I also offer you any other help to ensure that my brother's child will not want for anything. For instance, a more modern and safer flat or the best obstetrician in London."

"I already know the best obstetrician in London." Molly stared at him. She was surprised that he had a plan even for the possibility that his supposedly dead little brother knocked up a lonely pathologist.

"Ah, yes. Mary Morstan-Watson. Very well." He nodded again. "You don't have to decide now. You may wait until you know for sure that you are carrying his child. I do expect an answer within six to eight weeks."

She nodded. "Thank you, Mycroft."

"When the time comes, what do you want me to tell him?"

She looked at him straight in the eye. "Nothing. First, he will deduce it himself. Second, I don't want to endanger him by getting him distracted. He's in enough danger already. I can't let my child be indirectly responsible for his actual death. Third, I also don't want my child or me to be in danger. If his enemies find out that he got me pregnant, they might come after us and threaten to kill us to exact revenge on Sherlock. Lastly, I'm terrified of his reaction to the news. Like I said, he barely talked last night. There were no I-love-yous or whatever and I have no idea where I stand. I don't even know why he came to me last night."

"I wonder about that myself. I did ask him, but he never answered me." He was silent for a few moments, a sad smile on his face. Then he straightened up in his seat and faced Molly. "I apologise in advance for my brother's potential reaction if you are indeed pregnant. He is usually insensitive at the best of times. I don't know how he will take it when he finds out. I just hope that you're strong enough to endure the potential pain." She was surprised at the gentleness in his tone.

She smiled in spite of her fears. "I'd have to. Not for me, but for my child. Besides, I'm really not that fragile. And I'll have plenty of help before, during, and after the birth. Mrs Hudson and Mary will help me with the mothering. John and Greg will be fantastic uncles. You too, if you'd like. You're family after all."

Mycroft smiled. "I'm afraid Dr Watson and DI Lestrade would be better uncles than I will ever be. But you're forgetting someone."

"Oh, of course. Your mum!" She smiled at the thought that, not only would Violet have the daughter that she never had, she would also get the grandchild that she never would have, with Sherlock anyway. Then her smile fell. "It's just a shame that while Sherlock stays officially dead, your mum would never know that he had a child. Oh, God, I don't even want to imagine how she'd react when she finds out the truth!"

"Yes, well, let's cross the bridge when we get to it. The most important thing right now is whether you are carrying Sherlock's child. Let's deal with the rest later." He looked out the window and nodded to himself. He pulled out a card from his suit pocket and handed it to Molly. "Here is my mother's card. Feel free to call her anytime, but do call her first before dropping by the mansion."

"Will do. Thanks." She looked out the window when the car suddenly stopped. They were now in front of her building. "Thanks for the lift," she said as she grabbed her tote bag and opened the car door. But she turned back to him, who then gave her a questioning look. "All those things that your mother said about Sherlock and me, are those true?"

"Are you asking me if my mother was lying?" He cocked one eyebrow.

Molly shook her head. "No, no, not that at all. D-did Sherlock talk about me to your mother?"

"I'm not always privy to their conversations. But when I am around, yes. He would mention you when talking about his cases. He does call you his pathologist. But of course, that could only mean that you are the only pathologist willing to work with him."

Molly nodded. She thought so. "Goodnight, Mycroft."

"Goodnight, Dr Hooper."

Then she exited the car and waved goodbye as the car left. She began to walk towards the building's main entrance. However, she felt like she was being watched. So she turned around and froze when she saw a tall man in a dark blue hoodie, jeans, trainers, and a baseball cap sitting at a table belonging to the 24-hour coffee shop across the street. He sipped his coffee and nibbled on what looked like croissant. She could feel his gaze on her, but she wasn't afraid. She knew the man despite his efforts to blend in the late-night London crowd. Hell, she slept with the man. She stared at him for a few moments. And then she entered her building.

* * *

Pregnant.

Molly stared at the word on the home pregnancy test's display. "Fuck," she muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!" Toby scurried out of the bathroom at his mistress's exclamation.

She was expecting it, of course. But six and a half weeks after that night with Sherlock, she started to hope that she wasn't pregnant. It would have been a lot easier for her if she weren't.

But she started to feel and look so tired that Mike Stamford asked her if she needed to take a few days off. Then she began vomiting every morning and night. After one such night, she stood up and stepped in front of the mirror. She shed her shirt and felt her breasts. They looked as if they magically went up a cup or two. They were also tender.

She removed her mobile phone from her pocket and texted Mary.

Are you busy tomorrow morning? - Molly

No, not really. Why? Fancy a coffee date? :) - MW

Actually, no. I'm talking more about meeting with you in your professional capacity… - Molly

What the fuck?! You're pregnant?! Who's the father?! - MW

I think I am. But I just want to confirm. - Molly

Who's the father? - MW

You don't know him. It was a one-night-stand. - Molly

You don't do one-night-stands. - MW

There's a first time for everything. Please, Mary? - Molly

Fine. Eight o'clock, OK? - MW

Yes, it's fine. Thanks, Mary. - Molly

No prob. Congrats, Molls. - MW

She brought her phone to her bedside table and charged it. She then changed into her pyjamas and slid under the comforter. She cried until she fell asleep.

* * *

"So, what are you going to do now?" Mary asked her as she sat behind her desk.

Molly sat before her best friend, her eyes swollen from crying and the fatigue apparent on her entire demeanour. "I'm keeping it. And I'm going to raise it alone."

Mary leaned forward. "You know you're not gonna be alone in this, right? You have me and John. You have Mrs Hudson, Greg, Violet, and even Mycroft."

Sometimes, Molly wondered if her best friend knew things but never told her she knew. It was one of those times. "I know." She smiled in spite of the pain in her heart. "Thanks, Mary."

"You're welcome." She stood up and sat on her desk. She held Molly's hands in hers. "Come to our flat tonight. I'll cook us dinner. We could invite Mrs Hudson and Greg. Then you'll tell them your big news."

"Oh, God." She sighed. "OK." She stood up and hugged Mary.

"I'm going to be Auntie Mary!" she squealed in her ear. Molly couldn't help but laugh and thank God for giving her Mary Morstan-Watson.

* * *

"Who's the father anyway?"

Molly sighed at John's question. They were gathered in the Watsons' sitting room. She was eating strawberry ice cream while the rest drank tea. _God, I already miss tea_, she thought. She had just broken the news to Mrs Hudson and Greg. Mary had told John the news before Molly left her office for her own office downstairs. Mrs Hudson hugged her and exclaimed that she couldn't wait to babysit. Greg hugged her too, but quipped that he would punch the father of the baby if he didn't take care of them. Then Molly told them that she had not told the father.

"It was someone none of you know. It was a stupid one-night-stand," she answered John.

"But you don't do one-night-stands," John insisted.

"Well, not usually. But I did that one time." She took a bite of her ice cream. She swallowed before facing him. "Look, I was especially lonely the week of Sherlock's death anniversary. I met a guy at Criterion while getting coffee, went out with him that night, and slept with him. I've only seen him once since. He was never my boyfriend and I doubt he'll be one in the future. I don't even know how to contact him. So, there…" She took another bite of ice cream as she trailed off.

"Oh, leave her alone, John," Mrs Hudson scolded the blonde man. "It doesn't matter anyway. She's carrying a child and we will help raise him or her."

She smiled at the older woman. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson." She looked at each of her friends. "Seriously. I'm not worried about raising this child by myself. My dad did it and I turned out fine. With your help, I can, hopefully, raise this child to be a good person. I just need you to accept my choices. You don't even have to like them or understand them. I just need you guys to be with me. Will you do that?"

"Of course," they said in unison.

They finished their tea and she finished her ice cream. Then she left the Watsons' flat and began the ten-minute walk to her flat. She sighed when a black car stopped next to her. She was not surprised to see Mycroft sitting at the back. Just like their previous car ride together, Anthea was nowhere to be seen.

"Yes, I'm pregnant," she declared before he could ask her. "Six and a half weeks. The baby is due in March."

Mycroft nodded, as if he expected all that information. "And my offers?"

"I can say yes now to the trust fund. I don't care how much you put in it. You don't even have to tell me anything. I just want my child to have a good education. So even if he or she wants to be a doctor or actor or detective, he or she won't need to work crappy jobs to pay for the tuition fees." She looked down at her hands on her lap. "I don't need any money upfront. I have plenty of savings and Barts pays me well. Although if I could get the promotion to head of the pathology department, then the baby and I would be more comfortable. Not just financially comfortable. I'd have a regular 9-to-5 job so I can spend enough time with my child." She looked up at Mycroft, who had one eyebrow cocked. "I'm not asking you to get me the promotion. I think I can get it on my own merits. So please don't talk to my boss or the head of Barts so I can get the job. Will you do that for me, Mycroft?" He nodded. "Can I get back to you on the non-monetary offers? I have to think everything through. When I've determined exactly what I need, I can let you know. Is that OK?"

"Yes, that's all right." He removed a small notebook from his inside suit pocket and wrote something on it. "I will give you the banking information on the trust fund tomorrow. As for the rest, you can call me on my personal mobile phone." He removed a card from the same pocket and handed it to her. She accepted it and moved to leave the car. "Goodnight, Molly."

"Thank you, Mycroft. And goodnight." She smiled at him and exited the car. She was about to walk towards her building's main door when his voice stopped her.

"And congratulations."

She turned back at him and nodded. "Thanks, Mycroft."

She headed straight to the door although she could feel blue-green eyes boring into her back.

* * *

_Thanks to everyone who read, favourited, and followed my story. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Tell me what you think, all right?  
_


	3. Chapter 3

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: I don't know much about pathology as a career (Wikipedia wasn't incredibly helpful). Please forgive factual errors and chalk it up to creative licence. (Hehe.) **

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Molly was editing her journal article when she heard a knock on her door. Thinking that it was Sherlock again, she hesitated to open it. She heard another knock and she reluctantly walked towards the door. She placed her hand on her slight bump before looking through the peephole. She sighed in relief when she saw John Watson's smiling face instead.

"Hi, John!" she greeted him as he walked through the door.

"Hi, Molly." He looked a little bashful. "Sorry to barge in, but Mary wanted me to take you shopping for baby stuff. Didn't she text you?"

"Hang on. Let me just check my phone. I've been working and I left it in my bedroom." She gestured towards the couch. "Sit down, John. Make yourself at home. I'll be back in a sec." She left him going through the channels on her telly.

She grabbed her phone from her bedside table. She chuckled when she realised why she didn't hear her text alert tone. She went back to the sitting room with her phone.

"She did text me, but I didn't hear it chime because it was on silent mode." She laughed as she sat beside John, who chuckled along with her.

"She was freaking out because you weren't answering her texts! That's why she sent me here." He removed his phone from his jeans pocket. "I'll text her to let her know you're fine."

"No, it's OK. I'll do it." She tapped on her phone while John settled on a rerun of _Parade's End_.

Sorry! Phone on silent mode. Must be the pregnancy brain! - Molly

Mary's response came quickly as if she were waiting by the phone.

Oh, thank God! I'll join you later after work. Love ya! - MW

Molly stood up from the couch. "I'll just change my clothes and then we can go. That OK?"

"Absolutely. Take your time. We don't want anything to happen to Baby Hooper." John smiled at her.

She smiled back at him before returning to her bedroom. Five minutes later, she emerged wearing a loose emerald green shift dress, plain black cardigan, and her favourite ballet flats. She saved her work and closed the lid of her laptop. John turned off the telly and waited for her by the door. She checked her purse for her phone, wallet, and keys and gestured to John to open the door. She followed him out and locked the door behind her.

"Serious case of pregnancy brain, eh?" John teased her as they rode the lift to the lobby.

She laughed. "I know, eh? That better mean that my child will be clever!" Her face darkened for a moment as she thought of the baby's father. She ducked her head to hide her face from John.

"Well, _you're_ clever." Either John didn't notice the brief look of pain on her face or he ignored it. Regardless, Molly was thankful.

"Thank you. But I still had to work hard to get top marks. I hope the baby doesn't have to work so hard in school." She wondered if Sherlock had to work for his marks. _He probably didn't_, she thought. She wondered how long it took for him to get bored with school.

John chuckled, tearing her away from her thoughts. "Your baby isn't even born yet! Don't think about how clever he or she is going to be. Think about what colour we're painting the nursery or something." He whipped his head around and stared at her while they walked to the nearby baby store. "Do you have another bedroom for the nursery?" He opened the door for her as he waited for her answer.

"Actually, no. There's only one bedroom in my flat." She crinkled her nose as she considered her options. She immediately thought of Mycroft's offers, but quickly dismissed it. She really didn't want to owe Mycroft anything.

"We can deal with that later," John said as they stood amidst various onesies and clothes for newborns.

After two hours of browsing and discussions between Molly and John, they ended up with four carrier bags of baby clothes, toys, and other knickknacks. They waited for Mary at the coffee shop next door. Twenty minutes later, Mary joined them and John went to order pastries, coffee for him and his wife, and hot chocolate for Molly.

"So how was shopping with John?"

Molly returned her best friend's smile. "It was great, actually. He was very helpful. He helped me choose the colours, but I definitely chose the styles."

"Says the girl with the atrocious jumpers," she teased Molly, who stuck her tongue out at her friend. "Do you want to know the sex of the baby?"

Molly shook her head. "I want to be surprised. Which is why I bought plenty of reds, greens, yellows, and purples." John arrived with their order and she paused to sip some hot chocolate. "John did bring up something that I hadn't thought of. I have no nursery. I only have one bedroom and there's no space for a nursery. I could put the crib in my bedroom, but I may not have enough space for the playpen and the dresser for the baby clothes."

Mary and John were silent for a few moments. "You could move to a bigger flat in a newer building," John offered. "Your building is getting old and it's not that secure for a single mum."

"Maybe you can talk to your landlord," Mary suggested. "Maybe there's an available flat in your building that's bigger than the one you're living in now. The rent may be higher, but at least you're in a familiar building and you don't have to move far."

Molly considered the options that her friends offered. "Maybe I'll talk to my landlord first. I prefer not having to move. But if there's no available two-bedroom flat in my building, then I'll be forced to look for a new place."

Again, she thought of calling Mycroft and asking him to find her a more suitable flat. _Maybe I'll do that after I've exhausted all the other options_, she decided.

"How's work?" John asked.

"It's OK so far. But there are times when the smell makes me nauseous. Like when I open up a body. Except for the really disgusting insides, the smell never used to bother me. But there are days when it makes me gag."

"Have you talked to your boss?" Mary asked.

"Yeah. Mainly because I almost vomited on him when he visited the morgue. Stamford says he can just get the interns to do the post-mortems when I can no longer do them due to the smell. I'l still review the paperwork before they're issued." She smiled at the memory of where that conversation went. "He actually said that he'll recommend me for the head of the pathology department position."

John and Mary's faces lit up at her words. "That's wonderful!" Mary reached for her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed her best friend's hand back with a huge grin on her face.

"Congrats, Molls!" John raised his coffee cup as if he were toasting her promotion.

"Oh, John, don't jinx it," she scolded the former army doctor. "But I really, really want to get that job. The pay is even better and I get to teach."

"But you hate teaching," Mary reminded her.

"I hate _public speaking_. I hate talking to a hundred people all at once at a classroom. I'll be teaching twenty students at a time in the morgue or in the lab. Stamford actually let me try it the other day." She took a bite of her pastry.

"How did it go? Did you like it?"

"I loved it. It was great imparting knowledge to medical students when they're still eager to learn. And I didn't stutter once! The students actually listened to me, and a handful of them were even fascinated by pathology, particularly forensic pathology. And only a couple of students threw up. I had one of the interns clean it up so I don't throw up in front of them."

"What did Stamford say?"

"He said I did well. He also said he'll let me teach again before the smell of dead bodies and chemicals become too much for me."

"So will you still be doing post-mortems when you're head of Pathology? Scotland Yard will miss you," John asked. Molly saw a flash of pain on his face. _He must be remembering the good old days of running around London with Sherlock_, she thought.

"Yeah, of course. I love it too much. It's just when I officially get the job, the interns will be doing more post-mortems because of the smell. When I come back from maternity leave, I'll take priority over anyone else. But no more graveyard shifts. I'll still be on call if the Yard requires me, but it'll be pretty much a 9-to-5 job."

Mary squeezed her hand. "I'm so happy for you. I know you've been hoping to get this job. Now it's almost yours!"

"Maybe I'll talk to Stamford and tell him to hurry up and make your appointment official," John suggested.

"Let Mycroft do it. He has more bite," Mary offered. She was looking at her husband so she didn't see Molly's face fall for a moment.

"God, no." The pathologist shook her head. "If I'm gonna get this promotion, I want to get it because I deserve it, not because the British government influenced Barts."

Her friends nodded. "Of course. But you do deserve it," her best friend said.

"Plus Sherlock always thought you were the best pathologist at Barts. If he could recognise it, then the hospital should recognise it too," John added.

"But what about the rumours that he was a fraud?" Mary raised her hand to silence her husband and best friend's objections. "I know you don't believe that he was. But wouldn't the hospital hold that against you? I don't want them to, obviously. But Stamford will mention that. What if the directors believe that he was a fraud?"

"Well, I hope not. Besides, my post-mortems were independent from his deductions. My reputation shouldn't be affected by those rumours. I've always done my due diligence even when I looked like I was gonna keel over from exhaustion or when he turned my brain into mush with his proximity." John laughed. "Seriously! It's weird that he might have been oblivious to my charms, but he didn't mind sitting or standing mere centimetres away from me while in the lab or in the morgue. He even brushed his arm against my breasts once or twice. Obviously, he found them too small to get any reaction."

"Well..." John surprised Molly with the smirk on his face.

"What? 'Well' what?"

"I remember that one time when he did, uhm, have a reaction." He glanced at his wife and at Molly, his cheeks getting redder every second. "He, uh, got an erection." The women's eyes, especially Molly's, widened at his revelation. "Do you remember when we were working together during the Speckled Blonde case and then he just left the lab?"

The pathologist nodded. "Yeah. I was standing next to him. For some reason, the bottle containing the sample was nearer to me. I expected him to order me to pass it over to him. But he chose to reach for it instead, so he brushed against me. Then he straightened up and just left. He was cold towards me the next day. Like it was my fault." While she told the story for Mary's benefit, she also recalled the feel of his hands and his mouth on her breasts.

"Yeah, that one. He wouldn't talk to me even when I was yelling at him for being horrible to you. Then in the cab, he kept his hands on his lap. Only when we got out of the cab did I notice the tent in his trousers! I just didn't say anything because I just knew that he would be more horrible than he normally was." Molly gasped in shock. "I'm not kidding! He literally locked himself in the bathroom and didn't come out until five minutes later. You should have seen him. Oh, my God. He didn't speak to me until the next morning." He smiled at the memory.

She couldn't believe what John was telling her. She also couldn't help but remember how aroused he was that night. Was he thinking about her before he came to her flat?

"You should have said something, John," she said, a playful smile on her lips. "I could have jumped his bones the next day. Now I'll never get a chance to do so." She paled at the frown that crossed his features. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "No, it's OK. It's nice that we can talk about him and laugh. I still feel sad at times, but I'm not depressed anymore."

"Maybe," Mary spoke, her voice hoarse from laughter, "we should do that every year. Every June 15th, we'll gather everyone and tell funny and embarrassing stories about him. I'm sure there's plenty of those!" Mary smiled. Her best friend and her husband agreed.

"Anyway, when are we getting the crib?" John asked.

Molly bit the last of her pastry as she pondered over his question. "How about next weekend? I need to finish my article and have it ready for my editor by tomorrow night. So I'll be elbow deep in paperwork." She turned to John. "You saw the state of my kitchen, right?" He nodded. "That's gonna get worse tonight and tomorrow. If there's a murder this weekend, then I might be called to perform the post-mortem. Which means I get to finish my article on Monday night. Plus I'm scheduled for teaching on Tuesday and Thursday. In short, this is gonna be a crazy week. So assuming there's no murder on Friday or Saturday morning, I can shop for cribs and bigger furniture then."

"OK. Saturday then." He turned to his wife. "I think we should bring the car."

"Sure. I'm not scheduled to come in next weekend, so we can use the car."

Fifteen minutes later, Mary and John were helping Molly carry her shopping into her flat.

"Tea?" Molly offered after they dropped the carrier bags on the coffee table.

Mary shook her head. "Thanks, but I'm knackered. I delivered three babies today. It's exhausting! Maybe next weekend while John is building the crib?"

"What? You're not even helping me?" The two women laughed.

"You can get Greg to help you!" John shook his head while his wife stuck her tongue out at him. "Plus we need some girl talk." Mary winked at Molly.

"Uh-oh. Is this about the father again?" She narrowed her eyes at her best friend. _Typical Mary_, she thought. She wouldn't let it go until she found out what she wanted to know.

"Among other things." She winked at Molly again. "Bye, Molls." She kissed the pregnant woman's cheek. Then she turned to her best friend's slight bump. "Bye, Lil Hooper." She pressed her fingers to her lips and then placed them on Molly's belly.

John kissed Molly's cheek and waved goodbye at her bump. "Bye, Baby Hooper. See you later."

After they left, Molly carried the shopping into her bedroom. Then she resumed work on her article.

* * *

"Do you guys have any questions?"

Molly stood in front of twenty medical students. She had just finished showing them the procedures in post-mortem when the death is suspicious. She glanced at the doorway and spotted Lestrade watching them with an amused look in his eyes. Her class remained silent so she dismissed them for the day. Lestrade waited until the last student left the morgue before he entered.

"You're teaching now?" He spoke with an incredulous tone and a huge grin on his face.

She smiled back at him as she gathered her instruments for sterilization. "Yes. I'm now head of the pathology department. I get to teach now and I get first crack at murdered bodies." She laughed. "I didn't even know that was part of the job description."

Lestrade laughed with her. "I think they added that because Sherlock would always demand that you do the autopsies on the victims in his murder cases. Your work has always been impeccable, which is probably why he trusted you so much." He stared at the body that she just cut up for her class as he spoke.

Molly remembered Sherlock's words the night that he asked for her help. She didn't do all the post-mortems in his cases, but she could guess that she did most of them. "He trusted me that much?"

"Yeah. You were his favourite pathologist, remember?" A brief frown marred his handsome features, but he quickly replaced it with his usual bright smile.

"So, what can I do for you, Detective Inspector? There's no dead body coming in tonight, is there?"

Lestrade shook his head with a laugh. "No, no. Thank God. I'm actually here to ask about your first trimester."

She stared at him. "Why?"

"Well, I just want to know how you've been doing. Are you eating well?"

She stopped arranging her instruments and turned her body towards the DI. "Yeah. Mrs Hudson has been inviting me to Baker Street and she's been feeding me up. Even with the pregnancy, I haven't developed an allergy or aversion to any food. And Mrs Hudson is a great cook. So no problem there. Except when I have cravings, because I have to get it myself!"

Lestrade nodded. "That's good. Um, how bad is your morning sickness?"

"Imagine throwing up every morning. Not just in the morning either. It's not fun for me. But Mary says it's normal. I knew that, of course. Thank God, I haven't missed work because of it." She smiled at him. "Greg, I appreciate you checking up on me. I'm fine, though."

"Good. I feel like I need to protect you, you know. You're old enough to be my daughter." He chuckled as he toed the stainless steel leg of the examination table nearest him. "I'm also asking because my wife has been missing work for a week because she's vomiting all the time. As in, morning, noon, and night. She doesn't have any strength at all. And I'm worried about her. I can't ask my ex for advice, considering the divorce was less than amicable."

"That sounds like what happened to the Duchess of Cambridge. Has her doctor seen your wife?"

"Yeah. But she's only gotten worse this week."

"I think you need to bring her to the hospital. Then her doctor can look after her. Who's her obstetrician? Mary?"

"No, it's Dr Gupta."

"I've met her. She's great at her job. Anyhoo, I think she's still in the hospital. Why don't you go up and talk to her?"

"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks, Molls." He turned towards the door. "Oh, before I forget, do you want me to run a background check on the father? Just to see if he has any outstanding warrants?"

She laughed. "Thanks, but you don't need to do that." She knew that Sherlock's death voided any warrants for his arrest related to the kidnapping of the ambassador's children. "Besides, it won't matter because he won't be a part of my child's life." She felt a sharp stab of pain in her heart at her own words. She wanted Sherlock to be in their child's life, but she was terrified that he would reject them when he found out about her pregnancy. "That's why I have you, John, Mary, and Mrs Hudson. You guys will help me raise this child so he or she wouldn't grow up to be a murdering psychopath like Moriarty or to be an insufferable git like Sherlock." She laughed and Lestrade joined her.

"So you want a boring child?" he teased.

"Well, no. All I'm asking for is a child who grows up to be a decent human being. You know, someone who doesn't blow up people, someone who doesn't play twisted games that lead other people to suicide, someone who has basic manners, et cetera."

Lestrade nodded. "Don't we all." He looked at his watch. "It was great chatting with you, Molls, but I've gotta go. I need to catch Dr Gupta before she leaves. Shouldn't you be getting off work too?"

She removed her mobile from her lab coat pocket and looked at the time. It was 4:55. "Supposedly, but I still have tons of paperwork to do."

"OK. Well, I'll see you later. Congrats on the promotion!" He waved at her as he moved towards the exit.

"Thanks. Congrats on the baby too!" He grinned at her and shouted his thanks. "Hope your wife gets better soon!" She heard another shouted thanks as he walked towards the lifts.

Just then, her mobile rang. She gaped at the display before answering the call. "Hello, Violet."

"Good afternoon, dear." Her voice was as warm as it was the last time they spoke. "Do you have any plans for Saturday?"

"Um, actually yes." She didn't know if Mycroft had told her about her pregnancy so she was hesitant to tell her about her plans to go crib shopping with Mary and John.

"I see. Do these plans have anything to do with your pregnancy?" Her voice turned a touch cooler.

_Fuck_, she thought. "Did Mycroft tell you?"

"Yes, he did."

"I'm sorry." She couldn't find anything else to say. She supposed Violet felt like she was cheating on Sherlock by getting pregnant with another man's baby.

Sherlock's mother didn't answer for several moments. Then she let out a heavy sigh. "You don't need to apologise. It has been over a year since he died. You've got to move on, right?" She sounded sad. "So tell me about your new man. Is he as handsome and as brilliant as Sherlock?"

_Fucking hell_, she thought. _How am I going to explain this?_ "Uhm, it-it was a-a, uhm, one-off, uhm, thing."

Another long pause. "Oh." Molly closed her eyes, even though she knew Violet couldn't see her. "Does he know?"

"N-no. I haven't seen him since."

"I see. How far along are you?"

"Nearly three months." Molly felt like Violet was judging her. She didn't seem judgmental when they first met.

Sherlock's mother was silent for a long minute. Molly sat in her office chair, squirming in guilt, close to tears. "Would you like to come by the estate for lunch on Sunday?" The warm voice was back. "I'll send a car for you at around 11 AM. Is that OK?"

"Are you sure?" She couldn't believe that Violet would still want to see her.

"Of course, I'm sure. You're going to be a mother. You need all the advice and help you can get."

"You don't hate me?"

Violet sighed. "No, I don't. I'm sorry if I sounded like I was judging you. I just didn't expect to find out that you were pregnant." Something in her voice made Molly think that she was disappointed that the child she was carrying wasn't Sherlock's. _Oh, if you only knew_, she thought.

"OK." She gulped. She wasn't sure how this would change her relationship with Sherlock's mother. Granted, there wasn't really a relationship as they only officially met almost three months ago. But the way she talked to Molly that night made her feel like Sherlock told her so much about his favourite pathologist. _I wonder what Sherlock actually told her_, she mused. And she wondered what he didn't tell his mother. "S-sure. I'll be ready before 11 AM. Uhm, what should I wear?"

Violet laughed. "Anything you want, dear. Come as you are."

After they hung up, Molly sent a message to Mycroft.

Couldn't give me a heads-up that you told your mummy about my pregnancy? - Molly

His reply arrived while she was in the lift on her way out of Barts.

Apologies. Too busy getting Sherlock out of trouble in Dublin. - Mycroft Holmes

WHAT? Is he OK? - Molly

No need to yell, Dr Hooper. Yes, he's all right. A few cuts and a few bruised ribs, that's all. - Mycroft Holmes

Sorry, Mycroft. Didn't mean to yell at you. - Molly

Apology accepted. Sherlock says hello. - Mycroft Holmes

Molly bit her lower lip. Should she say hello or not? Then she remembered that she mentioned that she was pregnant.

Is Sherlock reading my messages right now? - Molly

No. He's lying down and being treated. I told him you texted me. I didn't tell him anything, in case you were worried about that. - Mycroft Holmes

Her thumbs hovered over her mobile's screen. She wanted to ask him something, but she wasn't sure if she was going to like the answer.

How did he react when you told him I was texting you? - Molly

Raised his left eyebrow. Eyes widened. Pupils dilated. I believe he is shocked that you are texting my personal mobile phone number. - Mycroft Holmes

OK. Say hi to him for me, please? - Molly

Done. He's asking how you are. What do you want me to tell him? - Mycroft Holmes

Tell him I'm OK. Tell him I'm now head of Pathology at Barts. Speaking of which, did you have anything to do with my promotion? - Molly

He says it's about time you got promoted. No, I did not have anything to do with that. I kept my word. Congratulations, by the way. - Mycroft Holmes

Thank you. I'm having lunch with your mum on Sunday. - Molly

Yes, she told me she was going to invite you. Don't worry. She's not going to bite you. - Mycroft Holmes

So you're saying that I shouldn't be worried for my child's life? For my life? - Molly

Why would you say that? My mother is a lovely woman. She wouldn't harm you or your child. - Mycroft Holmes

Sorry. I don't really know her, do I? I'm still shaking after I told her that this child is a product of a one-night-stand. - Molly

She's a bit traditional. Her long pauses are infamous, especially when she's angry with someone. But she loves anyone that Sherlock loves. - Mycroft Holmes

So she was angry with me? - Molly

I doubt it. Hurt, maybe. Disappointed, perhaps. But she's not angry enough to kill. That only usually applies to the Holmes men. - Mycroft Holmes

What exactly did Sherlock tell her? It's like she'd been expecting an engagement by the way she welcomed me at your estate. - Molly

I do not know. They would usually speak privately. - Mycroft Holmes

I see. So what should I expect at your mum's place on Sunday? - Molly

Good food. Tamara is a fantastic chef. Likely conversations about Sherlock and your pregnancy. You'll be fine. - Mycroft Holmes

Before she could tap out the reply to Mycroft's last message, her phone beeped again.

Why are you having lunch with my mother? - SH

_What the fuck? _Molly froze. She was thankful that she was in a cab. Otherwise, she could have gotten bumped or run over. She let out a shocked gasp. She glanced at the cab driver, who was staring at her as if she were crazy. She whispered an apology and the cab driver's eyes returned to the road.

Your mum likes me. - Molly

How did you even meet my mother? - SH

Mycroft invited me to dinner at the Holmes mansion on your death anniversary weekend. Everyone was there. - Molly

She blushed as she remembered that weekend. _Fuck_, she cursed to herself. _Here I am, pregnant with his child, and yet I still blush like a schoolgirl when it comes to him. You really are a fucking idiot, Molly Hooper._

Apologies for that, Molly. My brother snatched my phone. I have to go. I will see you when I get back. - Mycroft Holmes

OK. I'll talk to you later. - Molly

She didn't know what to think or what to feel. Sherlock spoke to her for the first time in three months. Mycroft seemed to be telling the truth: Sherlock didn't know yet that he had gotten her pregnant. Somehow, she became even more terrified of his reaction when he finally found out.

In her dreams that night, she found herself in Dublin, having contractions in the middle of the street. She spotted Sherlock staring at her across the street. She yelled for him to help her. But he only stood on the sidewalk, staring at her, his face unreadable. She fell to her knees, the contractions getting more painful and occurring more frequently. She looked down at her belly and saw her lower half covered in blood.

She woke up crying and her pillow soaked with her tears.

* * *

Mary sipped her caramel macchiato while Molly sipped chamomile tea on the latter's couch. The two women exchanged smiles as they listened to John and Greg struggle to build the crib in the bedroom.

"You boys all right in there?" Molly shouted to the direction of her bedroom door. Her best friend tried to stifle her sniggers.

"Yeah!" John grunted. The women heard the sound of wooden materials hitting the laminate floor. "Damn Swedish manufacturing!"

"Damn it, John!" Greg exclaimed. More clunks and thuds emanated from the bedroom.

Molly and Mary couldn't stifle their laughter anymore. John's head suddenly appeared in the doorway. "You ladies could help us, you know." He looked incredibly annoyed.

The women shook their heads. "Sorry, sweetie," Mary mock-apologised to her husband. She waved him off. He disappeared from the doorway with a huff.

Molly sighed. "OK, then. Get on with it."

"You still haven't told the father." It wasn't a question.

"I haven't even seen him since we slept together. How could I possibly let him know that he knocked me up if I don't know how to contact him?" She sipped her tea.

She looked up at Mary, who was narrowing her eyes at the pathologist. "I don't think you're telling me the truth," she said in a quiet voice. Molly didn't detect any malice or anger. It was a simple statement of fact. She swallowed.

"Would you be so mad at me if I told you I may not be telling you the whole truth?" She took another sip of her tea. She stared at Mary with her big brown eyes over the rim of the cup.

She looked hurt and affronted by the pathologist's admission. "I've been your best friend for fifteen years. Why can't you tell me the truth about the father of your baby? I promise I won't judge you. I promise I won't get mad. Just tell me who he is."

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't tell you who he is." She looked down at her slowly growing belly. "It's so complicated that I can't even begin to tell just how complicated it is."

Her friend sighed. "OK, all right. But can't you tell me anything at all?" Molly stared at her with her big brown eyes. "Please?"

The pathologist took another sip of her chamomile tea. She took a deep breath before turning her head towards her bedroom door. John and Greg were still trying to construct the crib for her baby. "He's, uh, a friend."

Mary stared at her. When she didn't speak again, she looked into Molly's eyes. "Friend? Which friend? Do I know this friend?"

"No, n-not really. He's a friend from uni. After a long time of not seeing each other, he visited me the week leading to, um, Sherlock's death anniversary. We slept together the night of the anniversary." She flicked her eyes at her best friend, who was intently watching her. "Like I said at your flat when we told Mrs Hudson and Lestrade, I was lonely during that week. I missed Sherlock. I haven't really gotten over him. So I took the next available man to bed. I hoped it would lead to something more. But then he disappeared again. He didn't leave me his number or where he's living now, so I have absolutely no way of telling him that he knocked me up." Molly finished off her tea and set the empty cup on her coffee table.

"Was he just a friend while you were at uni? Or did you date him?"

"Oh, he was just a friend. I might have fancied him while we were at uni, but he never reciprocated my feelings. We graduated and I went off to med school. He went to France, I think, and I never heard from him again. Until three months ago." She marvelled at how easily she could spin a tale now. She had never been able to lie to Mary. She simply knew Molly too well. But she had gotten better at lying since she started hiding Sherlock's continued existence to her friends.

"Was he a nice guy when you went to uni together?" She furrowed her eyebrows at Mary's question. "I mean, was he a decent guy to his girlfriends? Did he treat them right? Did he treat _you_ right?"

Molly shook her head. "I don't think he had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend for that matter, while we were at uni. As for his treatment of me, he was OK, I guess. He could be a bit rude at times, but that's because he has Asperger's. But, overall, he was a good man."

"Well, people change. Sometimes, they change for the better. Other times, for the worse. Who knows which way this guy changed? Did he tell you what he was doing in London?"

"No, not really. He just happened to be in town and sought me out." She shrugged.

"So you have no idea how he'd react if he ever found out that you're carrying his child?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all. To be honest, I'm terrified. Of course, he could be lovely and say that he would be there for the baby at least. I mean, that's all I really want. I just want our child to know his or her father. I don't need declarations of love or marriage. I just want him to be a father to our baby." She swallowed, her tears threatening to roll down her cheeks. "But what if he rejects us? What if he gets angry with me for getting myself pregnant? What if he tells me that he never wanted kids? That he doesn't want _my_ kid?" She was sobbing now. Mary scooted up to her and brought the pathologist's head down to her shoulder, her arms wrapping around her small body. "What if he doesn't want our child to know him as his or her father? What if he doesn't want to be in our child's life?" She took the napkins that Mary offered.

"If he rejects his responsibilities as a father, then he's not fit to be your child's father." Mary kissed the top of Molly's head as she continued crying. "It doesn't matter anyway. John and I will be raising this baby with you. Mrs Hudson and Greg will help out as well. But even if John and I have our own children, we'll always treat your baby as ours." Mary lifted the pathologist's chin with her finger and looked into her brown eyes. "You are not alone in this. Let him fuck off to France or wherever he lives. We'll be right here with you, especially when this kid becomes a teenager and starts to give you grief. We'll make sure this kid turns out to be a decent human being. So don't worry about him. You will be a fantastic mum. You will be more than enough for this kid."

Molly smiled through her tears. "W-what about when the kid asks why he or she doesn't have a dad like the rest of his or her friends? What do we tell him or her then?"

Mary scrunched her nose in thought. She was silent for a few minutes. Then she sighed. "Let's cross the bridge when we get to it. It's way too early to decide that."

But even after John and Greg had finished the crib (which looked sturdy enough) and after the three had left, Molly still couldn't shake her fears that Sherlock would reject them outright. She just had this feeling that he wouldn't be happy when he found out about her pregnancy. He could be volatile at the best of times. How bad could he be once he found out that he was now responsible for another life? How badly would he react once he found out that a person that shared his DNA was growing inside her? She still hoped that he would love her the way she loved him. But failing that, she would just like him to be there for their child. She would just like him to be a father.

Was that too much to ask?

* * *

_Thanks to magicstrikes, MizJoely, crooney83, SpencerReidFan89, ChynnaE, Nocturnias (fangirling over here!), Danny-Bella-Gubler-Reid, priestessofeternity, Lady Light, apple500, and three guests for the lovely reviews and words of encouragement. Thanks again to everyone who has read, favourited, and followed this story. Hope you liked this chapter too. I love you guys!_


	4. Chapter 4

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: This is the longest chapter I have written for this story. Actually, ever. Hope it doesn't drag. It took me forever to deem this chapter ready for public consumption. Gosh, I hope it's worth it. Enjoy. **

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Molly had had a trying day. The son of the Earl of Maynooth was murdered the other night and Scotland Yard couldn't figure out who did it. They had little to go on and Lestrade was frustrated. The deceased's mother was inconsolable and would only talk to her. To her dismay, Lestrade wouldn't stop talking about how the case would have been solved sooner if Sherlock were alive. She had to tune him out and divert her attention to paperwork so that she wouldn't reveal the truth.

But she was off work now, and she was looking forward to relaxing and watching the DVD for _The Hobbit_. She, Mary, and John planned to watch the second installment in the trilogy the next day.

She yelped when she felt someone come up behind her while she was hanging up her coat. She whirled around and came face to face with a grim man.

"Sh-Sherlock?" Her heart pounded in her chest. "W-What are y-you d-doing here?" She put her left hand on her chest and her other hand on the swell of her belly.

She watched as Sherlock's blue-green eyes travelled to where her right hand was. "I'm going to sit down." She moved to the couch as she spoke. "I suggest you sit down as well. We need to talk."

He followed her to the couch but he didn't sit down. He stood in front of her and watched her face and her belly. "Now I understand why you have been meeting with Mycroft and my mother." His voice was ice cold and it chilled Molly's heart.

"Your mum doesn't know that it's yours." She looked up at him and tried to keep her voice level.

"Is it?" He cocked one eyebrow at her.

"Of course it is. What the fuck are you implying?" His disbelief that it was his child infuriated her. "Well, whatever it is, fuck you, Sherlock. You, of all people, should know that I don't sleep around. Your superpower must be rusty if you couldn't deduce that I only sleep with men I care about." She stood up and looked him in the eye. "How dare you? _You_ come into my flat and _you_ sleep with me. And then you have the _nerve_ to doubt that this child is yours?" She slapped him. _That felt good_, she thought as she lowered her hand.

During her short rant, he only stood and watched her. He didn't open his mouth and the cold expression on his face didn't change. Not even after her palm connected with his cheek. He only turned his attention back to her.

The fire in his eyes would have made her back down and apologise profusely in the past, but the new Molly - the one that had been constantly used and then discarded by the man before her and had become fiercely protective of her six-month-old fetus - met his stare with a furious look she didn't know she could give him.

"I thought you were on the Pill," he growled. She flinched a little but kept standing, her fists clenched at her sides.

"I am. I mean, I was. But it's not 100% effective. I wasn't the first woman to get pregnant while on the Pill and I wouldn't be the last."

He ignored her explanation and stared her down. "You have another choice."

She gasped in shock at his words. "Are you implying that I should have killed your child? Fuck you. It was my choice to keep it. Even if this were somebody else's child, I would choose the same thing. And you have no right to say that I should have aborted our child!" She tried to push him away from her, but he barely moved.

She felt light-headed immediately following her angry reply. She clutched her forehead and sat back down. "Damn it, Sherlock. Sit down." She looked away as he lowered himself onto her coffee table. Now that the fire in her had burned out a little, his grim stare made her uncomfortable. "How did you even find out?" she asked in a softer voice.

"I saw you last week. You were walking home from Barts. And you looked so... _happy_." Then his eyes burned with such fury that would have made her cower in fear if she weren't furious herself. "Why didn't you tell me?" he yelled.

"How the hell could I have told you? You disappeared after you slept with me! I didn't know where you were. I didn't have the number of the burner phone that Mycroft gave you."

"Mycroft knew! You told my brother, but you didn't tell _me_." He rose and started pacing around her sitting room. "See? That's why I couldn't believe that your child is mine. You've been meeting with Mycroft. You've been texting his personal mobile. You two have become friends of some sort. He even cares about your well-being." He spat out the word 'cares' as if it left a bad taste in his mouth, He stopped in front of her. "What was I supposed to think?" he cried.

"It's because you weren't here! He's been acting on your behalf while you're off doing God-knows-what to Moriarty's network of criminals. He's trying to do the right thing by me even if it's not his child!"

"Why didn't he tell me then?" He bent down and placed his hands on the backrest of the couch, his arms mere inches from either side of her face. She kept her gaze on him as she fought the feelings his proximity was giving her. _Damn it, Molly_, she chastised herself. _This is not the time._

"I asked him not to tell you. I didn't want you distracted. I kept it from you for your own safety. You're welcome!"

He ignored her sarcasm. "Mycroft never does the right thing by anybody. Why would he care about _you_?"

His words stung. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're wrong. He cares about my child. He probably tolerates me because I'm carrying a Holmes. But _he cares_. That matters to me. Even your mother cares. She doesn't even know that it's your child." She looked up at his fiery eyes. "You said you saw me last week. Why are you only here now?"

"I was in my mind palace for days, trying to deduce whose child it is. I hadn't seen you with anyone else. The only men you spend any time with are John, Lestrade, and Stamford. All of them are married and unlikely to cheat on their wives, so it couldn't be any one of them. It's mine then. I couldn't figure out why you didn't tell me, though. That's why I'm here." He straightened up and resumed his pacing.

"Of course it's yours. It's only ever gonna be yours." Tears were welling up and she was afraid that she would let them fall in front of him. "Sherlock, I kept it from you because I don't want you distracted while you're dismantling Moriarty's network. You'd be in greater danger if anyone found out about this." She gestured at her bump. "Sherlock, if anyone knew that this child is yours, the enemies you made while you were alive will likely exact revenge on your child. If the people you're hunting down now found out about your child, then they will threaten to kill your child. Never mind me. I know that you don't care about what happens to me." Sherlock's eyes narrowed at her words. She ignored it. "But _your child will die_. Do you understand that, Sherlock? Your own flesh and blood, a human being that shares your DNA, someone who may inherit your genius, will die. Do you want that on your conscience?"

"I don't have a-" he started, but Molly raised her hand and cut him off.

"Wrong. I know you do. Why else would you fake your death for your friends?" He didn't answer. "That's why I didn't want you to know. Your child would be safer if everybody else thought that a nameless friend is his or her father." She sighed. "There. You got what you came for."

They were silent for a long moment. "You know that I can't be a father while I'm officially dead." He ground the words out.

"I understand that. But what about when you come back after you're done with Moriarty's network? I'm not asking that we get married or whatever. That's completely unnecessary since we can raise the baby without being romantically involved. I just want you to be a father to our child, to be there for him or her. John will help you. Lestrade too. Hell, we all will. But I'd like for you to be in our child's life. Will you help me raise our child? Please, Sherlock?"

Molly wiped the tears before they rolled down her cheeks as she watched him. He was silent, but she could see he was still seething from being kept out of the loop. His eyes burned as he made his decision, but the stony expression on his face was slowly killing the hope in her heart.

As the silence between them stretched on, Molly's heart broke and she began sobbing. For a long time, the only thing heard in the flat was the sound of her sobs. Then Sherlock finally spoke.

"I can't."

He spoke in a quiet voice, but the certainty in his tone shattered her already fragile hopes. She sobbed harder and louder, enough to rip the heart out of anyone who could hear her, as she watched him stand up. He still gazed at her, but the anger was gone. It was replaced by bone-chilling coldness.

"You're welcome to accept anything that Mycroft has offered you. Like you said, you're carrying a Holmes, so he thinks it's his duty to make sure it is comfortable." His cold voice matched his gaze. "If you think my mother should know that it is mine, then feel free to tell her the truth. She doesn't see John as often as she sees you, so there's minimal risk in telling my mother the whole truth, or at least part of it. And she'll believe you because she cares about you. She'll probably 'encourage' you to name it after her if it's a girl." If it were any other time, she would have laughed at the eye-roll that he gave. But his outright refusal to be a father to their child hurt her so much that she didn't even have the energy to tell him to fuck off. "You're also welcome to give it the Holmes name, if only for its birth certificate."

"No."

He had turned away from her as he spoke. But he turned his attention back to her at her refusal. "What? You don't want the Holmes name?" He looked surprised and insulted at the idea that she didn't want her child to take his name.

She scoffed despite the steady flow of tears. "Wouldn't it be defeating the purpose if I gave him or her your name? No. He or she will be a Hooper. I'll leave your name out of the birth certificate."

He stared at her for a few moments, his expression still ice cold. Then he shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way."

Without another word, he left through the fire escape.

Utterly spent, Molly slumped down on the couch and sobbed far into the night.

* * *

Molly sat through three hours of _The Hobbit_ when all she wanted to do was cry her heart out.

Earlier that night, she smiled at John and Mary when they picked her up at her flat. Mary looked at her curiously once she settled in the backseat but didn't say anything. Her best friend sat next to her in the auditorium and held her hand during some of the tense scenes. After the movie, they decided to dine at a nearby shopping centre food court. Mary asked her husband to order for them and sat across Molly.

"Are you OK?" Mary looked her in the eye.

She was silent for a few moments. "No," she finally said, her voice quiet and sad.

"What happened?"

"The, uh, father somehow found out about the baby." She gazed at a distance although she couldn't register anything. She didn't want to talk about it, but she knew that her best friend wouldn't let it go until she said something.

"And? Is he thrilled that he's gonna be a dad? Is he gonna be around?" She could see that Mary was being optimistic even though she knew something was wrong.

Molly shook her head and took a deep breath to keep herself from crying. "No and no. He actually had the nerve to insinuate that the baby's not his and that I should have aborted it." She shook her head again.

Mary gaped at her. "What? The fucking bastard." Then she looked at the pathologist and saw the tears that were welling up. She reached for Molly's hand. "I'm so sorry he was a dick. Forget about him. He doesn't deserve to be your baby's father anyway."

Molly only nodded. She looked up and spotted John coming back with their food. She turned to Mary and smiled. "Thanks. I just didn't expect him to be so cruel."

John set their tray on the table and sat down. She wiped the tears that rolled down her cheeks as he shot Mary a questioning look. His wife filled him in. "What the fuck? Do you want me and Lestrade to hunt him down?"

Molly looked up at him and she smiled despite her pain. "It's not worth it. He can be infuriatingly stubborn." She shook her head. "No one needs to do something about him. That's his decision and I'm not going to force him to do anything he doesn't want to do." She took a deep breath. "Let's just not talk about him, OK?"

John squeezed her free hand and nodded. "Of course." Then he cleared his throat. "Did you like the movie?"

"Yeah," Molly replied as she wiped the tears that escaped. "Loved the effects and the acting. Absolutely loved Smaug!"

"Yep," Mary agreed. "And wasn't Bilbo amazing?"

Molly spotted a brunette whose thumbs and eyes were glued to her BlackBerry. _It takes enormous skill to avoid tripping over something while your eyes are glued to your phone_, she thought. She sighed and turned to the Watsons. "Anthea's here."

Mycroft's assistant reached their table and looked at Molly. "Dr Hooper, will you come with me?"

Mary and John looked at her and then at Anthea. "What's going on?" Mary asked.

The pathologist sighed again but stood up. "It's OK. Thanks, guys. I'll see you later, OK?" She kissed them both goodbye on their cheeks. She followed Anthea out of the shopping centre and into a black car.

"What now, Mycroft?" she began with an irritated voice.

"I apologise for stopping you from eating that wonderful fast food meal." He was as calm as he always was despite the unmistakable scorn in his voice. "And I apologise for my brother's reaction to your pregnancy. I tried to explain it to him but he would not listen."

She only shrugged, although she wanted to cry. She felt a display of emotion would make him uncomfortable. "He has made his choice. That only forces me to amend my plans, but my choice doesn't change at all. I'll raise this child myself, with a little help from the Watsons, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and your mum." She tried to imitate the coldness in Sherlock's tone the previous night.

Mycroft only cocked an eyebrow at her. "Very well. Is there anything that you need or perhaps the baby needs?"

She looked up at him. "Actually, yes." Mycroft didn't answer but gestured for her to go on. "I need a two-bedroom flat. My current flat is too small for a single woman, an infant, and a cat. I asked my landlord if there's a vacant two-bedroom apartment, but he said no. I'd rather not ask you for any favour, but it's for your niece or nephew anyway."

Mycroft removed his notebook from his suit pocket and wrote something on a fresh leaf. He nodded and gave Molly an almost-sincere smile. "I shall have something for you in a few days. Are you looking for specific features?"

"Not really. It doesn't have to be state-of-the-art or swanky. I just need two bedrooms, really. I'd also like to keep Toby, so a building that lets tenants keep pets would be nice. Oh, also somewhere that's not too far from Barts. A little closer would be lovely, actually." She rested her hands on her bump as she recalled the must-have items on a list she made three months ago. "I think that's it."

"What else do you need, Molly?" The gentleness in his tone surprised her. She looked up at him but saw only his usual poker face.

"Besides Sherlock changing his mind?" She tried to smile but succeeded only with a pained grimace. "Besides those I care about finally finding out that Sherlock is alive and that he's the father of my baby? Nothing, Mycroft, nothing."

Mycroft's expression was sombre as he pocketed his notebook. He cleared his throat and brushed off some invisible lint from his trousers. "Mummy would like to confirm lunch with you this Sunday."

Part of her was thankful that he changed the subject. However, another part of her wanted to scream at him for the way his little brother behaved towards her. "Sure. Car at 11 AM again?" She quietly sniffled, thankful that no tears escaped.

He nodded. "Very well." His face brightened as Anthea opened the door of the car while carrying a large brown paper bag. "Ah, thank you, dear." She smiled at Molly as she handed her the bag. The pathologist peered into it and was surprised to find a takeaway box of what smelled like pasta. She looked up at Anthea.

"It's chicken fettuccine Alfredo from Angelo's," the assistant answered the question in her eyes.

Molly smiled. "Thanks, Anthea."

She smiled back at the pathologist. "You're welcome!" Then she turned to her boss. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Yes. You can take the rest of the night off. I'll text you if I need anything."

"Thank you, sir. Bye, Dr Hooper!" With that, she closed the car door and walked away. The car moved forward again.

Molly turned back to her baby's uncle and smiled at him too. "Thanks, Mycroft."

He shook his head. "It's nothing, really. I prefer that your child gets its nutrition from a decent restaurant like Angelo's rather than from an American fast food chain."

She giggled. "Violet says it's OK. Don't tell me you Holmes boys never ate fast food when you were kids?"

The corner of his mouth curled in disgust. "We did, every time we travelled to the summer home. But I have always detested it. My brother never minded it as he rarely ate anyway."

A few moments of surprisingly comfortable silence passed between them. "How is his mission coming along? Is he almost done?"

Mycroft cocked an eyebrow at her. She could swear she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes, but she wasn't entirely sure so she ignored it. "I'm surprised you're still concerned after what he did last night."

"I'm not concerned as the mother of his child. I'm concerned as a friend and as one of the few people who know that he's alive. I want him to be reunited with John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and your mum soon. They really miss him, even after almost two years. Plus Scotland Yard needs him to help solve the Adair case. I can't answer his mother's calls anymore without wanting to cry."

Mycroft nodded. "He has eliminated most of the network. He only needs to deal with Moriarty's lieutenant. When he's either dead or in jail for life, then Sherlock can come home."

"Obviously, killing him would be preferable."

Mycroft looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Dr Hooper! You never fail to surprise me." Then he smiled. "Yes. We both prefer that Moriarty's lieutenant is dead, especially since he would probably go after you and the child. But we can't seem to pinpoint his exact location."

"What if he's here in London?"

"Yes, we think so. Which is why Sherlock is in town. He's trying to find Colonel Moran here. So far we haven't gotten any usable leads."

Molly raised an eyebrow. "The British government and the world's only consulting detective can't get a good lead on the second most dangerous criminal in Britain? It must be the end of the world!"

Mycroft smirked. "While Colonel Sebastian Moran isn't a genius like my brother and Moriarty, he is clever enough and very sneaky. One of the best snipers in the world, he's also volatile and extremely vicious. We think he has learned how to use disguises, in which my brother is skilled." He looked Molly in the eye. "My fear is that Moran has discovered your role in faking Sherlock's death, as well as where you stand in his life. I've often warned Sherlock about visiting your flat so frequently and I'm afraid Moran has figured it out. And-"

Molly held up her hand to cut off his speech. "Wait, back up. He's only been in my flat twice. The first was the night we slept together. The second was last night. What are you talking about?"

He stiffened, only slightly, but the pathologist noticed it. He cleared his throat after a few moments of silence. "He's been breaking into your flat for years," he began slowly. "I cannot tell you what he does in there because he ripped out my surveillance equipment. His visits became more frequent since the Fall. I believe he would be there while you're at work." He ducked his head. He wore an almost-bashful smile when he looked back up at her. "You weren't supposed to know. But, considering the circumstances, I suppose you have a right to."

She gaped at him in shock. _What the fuck?_ "So _that's_ how he found out about my birth control," she said, mostly to herself.

To her surprise, Mycroft reached for her forearm and tapped it twice before pulling back. "Don't worry. I'm sure my brother has a reason for his frequent visits to your flat."

"B-but why? And what is he doing there? I never notice anything out of the ordinary when I get home!" She covered her face with her hands.

"Another one of my brother's many talents." He looked out the window. Molly looked up when he didn't say anything more. She followed his gaze and saw that they were parked outside her building.

She knew he expected her to exit the car, but she stayed in her seat. "So what do I do now? I mean, in case Moran knows about me?"

He seemed to ponder her question. "Nothing. You just need to continue with your life as if you didn't know that Colonel Sebastian Moran existed. If he does know about you and Sherlock's child, then we can't let him see that we have figured it out. It would put you and the child in greater danger. I will raise your surveillance level to ensure that he doesn't harm you." She began to protest but he held his hands up and cut her off. "Don't worry. I respect your privacy and they won't be intrusive. But they will be trained in combat and armed in case Colonel Moran goes for you. You and your child will be safe."

She nodded and smiled at him. "Thanks, Mycroft."

To her surprise, he smiled back at her. "You're welcome, Molly."

She exited the car, gripping the top of the brown paper bag from Angelo's in her hand. Though the car left without her child's uncle bidding her farewell, she still waved goodbye at the car. She was about to turn towards her building's entrance when she saw a tall man with raven curls wearing a pair of jeans, grey T-shirt, dark grey hoodie, and black leather jacket from across the street. He was sitting at the coffee shop and staring at her. She wondered why he would always be there whenever Mycroft met with her. She also wondered why he would think that it was OK to break into her flat when she was at work, sleep with her, get her pregnant, and then refuse to try to be a father.

Intent on getting home and eating the dinner that Mycroft bought for her, she turned around and bumped a burly blonde man on her way to the door. He gripped her shoulders to keep her from falling to the ground. "Are you OK, miss?"

"Y-yeah. Sorry about that." She looked at him and smiled apologetically.

He gave a booming laugh. "It's OK, miss. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going either." He sounded like an easy-going guy. _Much like Moriarty_, a voice in her head reminded her. His eyes travelled to her swollen belly and he grinned wider. "Hey, congrats," he said while pointing at her bump.

"T-thanks." She smiled back at him to be polite. But she wanted to get in her building as soon as possible.

"Have a good night, miss." He waved at her and then walked away.

She sighed in relief and entered her building. She didn't go straight to the lifts but gazed across the street. The tall, dark-haired man was leaning forward with his hands on his knees. He seemed ready to attack someone, perhaps the blonde man she bumped into, even though she was safe inside her building. A few moments later, he leaned back and sipped from his cup. He removed what looked like an iPhone from his jacket pocket and hovered his thumbs over the screen. He tapped on it several times. Shortly afterwards, her phone beeped.

Are you all right? - SH

She rolled her eyes at the risk he was taking by texting her and signing his initials. _God, he can be so stupid sometimes_, she thought.

Yes. I think the baby's all right too. - Molly

Good. Pay attention next time, OK? - SH

Will do. The baby says thanks. - Molly

She could see confusion cloud his handsome features and she let out a quiet laugh. She turned and saw the front desk attendant glance at her. She returned her attention to the man at the coffee shop across the street. She hated herself for it, but she longed to run to him and snog the daylights out of him. In public, no less. _Must be the pregnancy hormones_, she reasoned to herself as she shook her head. She walked towards the lifts and pressed the button. One immediately opened and she stepped into it as her phone beeped.

That's absurd. You're only six months along. How can it speak? - SH

I know, but Baby is thanking Daddy in his or her own little way. - Molly

She had let herself in her flat and set the paper bag on the kitchen table when her phone beeped again.

Can I come up? - SH

She was shocked and a little bit annoyed. How could he think she would let him in her flat again after everything that had happened?

I don't think that's a good idea. It's not safe. For you, me, and the baby. - Molly

I see. Did my brother get your favourite from Angelo's? - SH

Yes. Do you eat when you break into my flat? - Molly

I will murder Mycroft. - SH

She laughed as she removed the takeaway box from the bag. She opened it and moaned at the smell of her favourite dish. She began eating as she tapped out a reply.

Don't. You still need his help in tracking Moran. Just answer the question! - Molly

Sometimes. How did you know? Did Mycroft tell you? - SH

No. I noticed this morning that my frozen dinners are already gone even if I bought them only two days ago. I just realised now that you may be eating them. - Molly

Sorry. I've been ravenous lately. I don't even know why. But I'll get Mycroft to replace them. - SH

Don't bother. It's OK. Just leave a note next time if I've run out of anything, all right? - Molly

She suddenly remembered that she asked Mycroft to find her a new flat. She debated with herself if she should tell him that she might be moving soon. She decided against telling him and wondered if he could break into her new flat as easily as he could pick the locks in her current flat.

You've run out of milk. - SH

She laughed out loud, startling Toby. He scurried away from under the kitchen table and meowed at her before he padded towards her bedroom.

Thanks for the heads up. I'll get a carton or two tomorrow on the way home from work. - Molly

She finished her meal and threw the box into the rubbish bin. She changed into her maternity pyjamas and then entered the bathroom to get ready for bed. She plugged in her phone to charge it and slid under the covers. She was about to fall asleep when her phone beeped. She picked it up and smiled at the message.

Good night, Molly. - SH

Good night. Baby says good night too. - Molly

She didn't think he'd reply so she set her phone down on the bedside table. To her surprise, it beeped again. She picked it up and sleepily stared at the message.

Good night, Baby. - SH

For the first time in six months, Molly fell asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Molly woke up hours later. It was still dark in her bedroom so she knew it was not yet eight in the morning. She was lying on her side. She picked up her phone and checked the time. It was only three o'clock in the morning.

Then she realised that an arm was draped around her waist. She held her breath as she slowly turned around to see whose arm it was. Her eyes were met by unruly raven curls, sharp cheekbones, and Cupid's bow lips.

Sherlock Holmes was fast asleep in her bed. His mouth was slightly open and he was faintly snoring. He was also nearly naked, with only his boxers on.

She should be angry. She should kick him out of her bed and from her flat. But when he pulled her closer to him and wrapped his arm around her swollen belly, her heart melted like it always did when he did something unexpectedly human and sweet. So she smiled and went back to sleep.

He was gone when she woke up four hours later.

* * *

The following weekend, Molly stood in the middle of her new sitting room.

Mycroft found it three days after they spoke. He e-mailed her the details in the morning. She then spent her lunch hour looking at the place. It was twice as large as her former flat and was fully furnished.

She was discussing her price range with the estate agent when the red-haired woman laughed. When she furrowed her brows in confusion, the other woman explained herself. "It's been taken care of."

"What do you mean by 'taken care of'?"

"Mr Holmes has paid the first two years of rent, as well as the security deposit. You don't need to worry about rent, Dr Hooper." The estate agent smiled at her and seemed to ignore the shock on Molly's face.

She looked around the flat once more as the other woman quietly moved to the kitchen to give her space. She guessed Mycroft used his powers of deduction to figure out that she liked her home to be warm and inviting but not too girly. So the tan walls and a mixture of red and brown accents in the furniture and in the decor matched her tastes. The appliances were all the newest models. Other than that, the flat had everything that she asked for. The master bedroom was easily twice as large as her current bedroom and it had an en suite bathroom. The walls of the second bedroom, which would be the nursery, were painted purple. That was perfect as she didn't know the gender of her baby. It was big enough for the crib, playpen, and dresser that she bought. The building management also encouraged pets and even had a small veterinary clinic on the ground floor. The building was also located ten minutes from Barts, so she could walk to work if she wanted to.

Overall, the new flat was a major step up from her former apartment, but it wasn't too fancy to raise suspicions among her friends and co-workers. So later that week, Molly moved to her new flat with the help of her friends. John and Lestrade drove the moving van to the storage place while Mary and Molly followed them in the car. Then Mary drove her to the new flat and the men followed in the van containing her belongings that would be moving with her.

"Holy crap," was Mary's reaction when she stepped inside, a suitcase containing clothes in tow.

"This is nice," commented John as he looked around the sitting room. "How did you find this place?" He set the other two suitcases that contained Molly's clothes by the couch.

"Uh, I saw this online. I just Googled 'two-bedroom apartments near Barts' and then I looked at it last Monday. It's perfect so I didn't let it go." She dropped the duffel bag full of baby clothes on the chocolate brown couch.

"Wow. How much is the rent?" Mary asked.

"It's about £300 more than my previous rent." She had asked Mycroft how much the rent was when she thanked him for finding her that flat. "But I got a massive raise when I became head of Pathology so it's not a problem." She grinned at them. Then she took the bigger suitcase and the duffel bag and went to the master bedroom. Mary followed her with the other suitcases while John fetched the boxes of books, paintings, and various small appliances that didn't go into storage. Lestrade guarded the van and waited outside for John.

Mary and Molly began to move her clothes from the suitcases into the walk-in closet. "Molls, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," she answered although she was dreading her best friend's question. She knew Mary had become very suspicious since Anthea fetched her from the shopping centre food court.

"Is Mycroft the father of your baby?"

"What?" She turned to Mary and began to laugh. "Oh, my God. No, it's not Mycroft." She shook her head as she giggled.

"OK. So why is he extra nice to you? John told me he's even colder and more ruthless than Sherlock was."

_Fuck_, she thought. "How has he been extra nice to me?" she asked.

"He bought you a dress. I saw you get in a black car after you left our flat the night you announced your news. And he sent his assistant to fetch you the night we watched _The Hobbit_." Mary stared at her and crossed her arms.

_Fuck, I know that look._ She immediately became uncomfortable under her scrutiny. She took a deep breath. "Don't be mad at me, but I can't tell you why. At least not now."

"Why?" Her stare didn't falter.

"It's, uh, because it's about something, uh, that threatens national security. I can't divulge anything for your safety." She chewed her lower lip and hoped that she didn't look too nervous.

"Are you, like, a spy now?" Mary raised her eyebrow as she smirked at the pregnant pathologist.

"No. Just, uh, helping out the British government in matters involving pathology."

Mary slowly nodded her head. "So he's being extra nice to you as a thank-you for your help then?"

The buzz of the intercom prevented her from answering Mary's question. Molly left the bedroom to answer it, with the obstetrician on her heels. "Hi."

"Molly, your boyfriends are here," John joked, which made the women giggle.

She pressed the button to let them in. "Come on up."

She then headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Mary stood next to her against the counter and drummed her fingers on the countertop. "What if Mycroft is falling in love with you?"

She laughed again. "That's impossible," she answered.

Mary turned to her. "How is it impossible? You're a beautiful woman. With no Sherlock to cockblock your potential boyfriends, Mycroft can make his move."

"Mycroft isn't in love with me. To the Holmes boys, actions speak louder than words. They're eloquent in lots of things, but they can't find the right words to express emotions and sentiment. Especially because they avoid sentiment like Mycroft avoids American fast food chains. So they do things for people they care about to express gratitude or affection or whatever. Mycroft is better at it than Sherlock was. That's all." She smiled at Mary as she opened the door for John and Lestrade. Each had a moving trolley with four boxes in it. "Did you get everything from the van?"

"Yeah. There's not that much left anyway. Lestrade helped you move the baby furniture, your bags, and your shoes last night. The rest is in storage now."

"OK, Molly," Lestrade looked around the flat. "Where do you want us to start?"

She gestured towards the large built-in bookshelf on the wall. "Let's start with the books. I don't care how you arrange them."

Mary grabbed the pathologist's arm. "We'll continue our very important work in the walk-in closet." Then she dragged Molly back to her bedroom.

"Enjoy, boys. I'll make us tea later!"

Once they were back in the closet, Mary forced Molly to face her. "Sherlock Holmes is the father of your baby."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. Which made Molly sputter and laugh nervously. "What? You know that's impossible. He's been dead for over a year!" Even she was surprised at the minimal shake in her voice. She hoped her best friend didn't notice it.

"But that's the only convincing reason for Mycroft's behaviour. You know, I just remembered something that John said. He first noticed Mycroft's special treatment of you during Sherlock's death anniversary dinner. He said he was staring at you the whole time. I saw it too. It was like he was studying you, especially while you interacted with his mum. And you and Violet were getting along fabulously. It was as if you and Sherlock got married and didn't tell a soul."

_How the fuck am I gonna get out of this one?_ She cleared her throat and looked into her best friend's eyes. "First, when I told you that Sherlock was never into me, I was telling you the truth. So we didn't secretly get married. Second, I have no clue exactly what Sherlock told his mum about me. But she reminds me of my mum and she wanted a daughter. So it's more of a surrogate mother-daughter thing. Now I didn't know Mycroft was staring at me the whole time. He was probably trying to deduce why I was Sherlock's favourite pathologist. Which is also probably why he asked for my help in the name of national security." She put her hands on Mary's shoulders. "Did I mention that we buried Sherlock Holmes over a year ago? Yeah, so in conclusion, none of the Holmes boys is the father of my baby." She took a deep breath and smiled at her best friend.

Mary was quiet for a few moments. Then she slowly nodded. "OK. If you say so." Molly rolled her eyes. "But I still think Sherlock is the father."

"OK. Whatever." She resumed putting her dresses in hangers while Mary folded her trousers. They worked together in silence for a few minutes and then Molly faced her friend. "If Mycroft says I can tell you everything and then you find out that I kept major things from you, will you be mad at me?"

She watched as Mary rolled her eyes and grinned. "I knew it." Then she faced the pathologist. "Maybe a little. I'm your best friend. We're supposed to tell each other everything. But I'm sure you have a damn good reason to lie to me by omission. And if it is for the sake of national security, then I'll forgive you immediately." Mary reached for the pathologist's hands and squeezed them. "Always remember that I love you and Lil Hooper, OK? Whatever happens, I'll always be here for you."

Molly squeezed her hand in return. "Thanks. One day, I'll tell you everything." She pulled her best friend in for a hug and they stayed like that for a few minutes. When they separated, they resumed arranging Molly's clothes in the walk-in closet. After several minutes of celebrity and Barts gossip, a thought suddenly hit Molly that she froze for a moment.

"What is it, Molls?" Mary immediately moved to her side.

"John doesn't share your theory, does he?"

The worried look on the obstetrician's face disappeared and she smiled. "No, no, no. With everything that John told me about Sherlock, I could tell that they were the best of friends. He saw Sherlock jump. His grief, even now, is too much. He would never suspect that Sherlock is not dead and could be Lil Hooper's daddy."

Relieved, Molly let out a deep sigh. Then she smiled at Mary. "You do know that I can neither deny nor confirm your theories, right?"

The blonde woman smirked at her. "Of course." But her wink told Molly that Mary knew she was right and that the pathologist's secret was safe with her.

"Thanks, Mary." _Mycroft will kill me_, she thought. But she shrugged it off. She felt a bit of the burden was lifted and her heart felt a little lighter.

They left the master bedroom and moved to the nursery. Lestrade had reconstructed the crib and the dresser the night before. Molly and Diana Lestrade, the DI's new wife, chatted about their respective pregnancies, as well as Scotland Yard gossip, while they reconstructed the playpen. Now Molly and Mary began to put the baby's clothes in the dresser. When they were done, they made their way to the sitting room. They found the books neatly arranged albeit without a specific order (besides the medical texts being grouped together and sorted by date of publication) and the few paintings she owned sitting against one wall. John and Lestrade sat on the couch, each with a cup of tea.

"Shit," she muttered. "Sorry, guys. I completely forgot about making tea."

"That's all right," Lestrade answered. "We just made it ourselves." He stood up and placed his cup and saucer on the mahogany coffee table. "Sit down, ladies. I'll brew some more." Molly began to protest but he only shook his head. "I can tell you're tired. Go sit down and I'll serve you the tea."

"Thanks, Greg," she said with a smile and a kiss on his cheek.

"What about me? Are you gonna serve me tea as well?" Mary teased.

"Ha-ha. You're not six months pregnant. Come, we'll serve the tea." With a kiss on the inspector's cheek, Mary and Lestrade headed for the kitchen.

Molly sat down next to John. "I don't know where you want your art to hang," he said as he gestured towards the paintings. "So just let us know where you want them and we'll hang them for you."

"Thanks. I think I can do that myself. Actually, I haven't really decided where to hang them."

"As you wish," he said with a small bow, which made her laugh.

Shortly afterwards, Lestrade and Mary returned with the tea tray. He handed Molly her cup and Mary hers. They drank in silence for a while until John removed his mobile from his jean pockets. "Do you play classical music for Lil Hooper?"

She nodded. "Every night, before I go to bed. Why?" She took a sip of her tea.

He searched for something in his phone. "Aha," he muttered when he found it. "One night, long before Sherlock died, I couldn't sleep. He was playing something on his violin. I hadn't heard it before. I think he composed this one. I was bored so I recorded it on my phone while sitting on the top landing. I don't know if he ever knew I recorded it. Here, listen to this." He flicked a finger across his phone's screen and music began to play. He held the phone towards Molly's bump.

The only sound heard in the flat for fifteen minutes was Sherlock's composition. Then Molly felt movement in her belly. "Woomph!"

John paused the music and the three of them stared at her. "Lil Hooper kicked!" She grinned. "The baby would always kick when I play classical music," she explained. _This is indeed Sherlock's child_, she thought. She glanced over at Mary and rolled her eyes at the smirk on her best friend's face. "Come on. Put your hands on my belly and feel her kick." She turned to John. "Resume playing, please."

But before John could press play again, Mary held up her hand. "Wait, 'her'?"

Molly blushed. "I know I said I don't want to know before I give birth. But lately I've been referring to the baby as 'her'. Am I having a girl, Mary?"

The obstetrician grinned and nodded. "Yep!" The men cheered and, along with Mary, hugged her. "OK, John. You can press play now." The three of them put their hands on Molly's bump.

Not long after the music started again, they all felt slight bumps against their palms. They cheered at the outlines of two small feet on Molly's belly. When they did, the baby stopped kicking. Molly shushed them and the baby resumed kicking. Mary took out her phone and began recording what was happening. "I'll send the video to you later."

When the music finally stopped, the baby ceased her movements as well. Molly looked at her friends and giggled at the moisture in their eyes. She wiped her own tears and smiled at the former army doctor. "Thanks, John."

He smiled back at her. "No problem." He cleared his throat in a futile attempt to hide the hitch in his voice. "You know what? I'm sending you the file."

Within two minutes, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She opened the e-mail and turned to John. "Thanks. I'll play it for her again tonight."

"No problem." He smiled at her, but she could see the sadness in his eyes. He really misses Sherlock, she thought.

"I miss him too." She gave him a sad smile. Despite the pain and heartache that Sherlock had put her through since she met him, she still cared about him. She missed everything about him - the brilliance of his mind, his handsome face, his baritone, his gorgeous body, his touch - too.

John returned her sad smile and gave her a nod that only the two people who loved Sherlock the most, although on different levels, could understand. They both loved him as a friend, but John had the privilege (or curse, depending on the day and on one's point of view) of being his flatmate, best friend, conscience, and fraternal soulmate. Sherlock treated John better than he did his own brother. He also brought back purpose and excitement in the former army doctor's life after the latter was invalided. That was why John was so lost and depressed after the Fall. She thanked God every day for bringing Mary back from Edinburgh and into John's life. Mary helped him through the depression and gave him another purpose in life.

Molly, on the other hand, fell in love with him from their first meeting. From the beginning, she saw the loneliness in the detective's eyes and felt a kinship with him. She knew that he longed for friendship, even though he claimed otherwise. Then the former army doctor entered his life and he began to show the heart that he always said he didn't have. His heartfelt apology on that dreadfully memorable Christmas party ages ago was further proof that Sherlock Holmes did have a heart. While his actions the night after he refused to help raise their baby confused her, they were still proof that he cared.

Hours later, after the Watsons and Lestrade left, Molly sat on the couch with her laptop on the coffee table. She had just finished syncing her phone with her music library. She plugged in the small iPod that she bought for her baby. The music library began syncing the classical music playlist with the iPod. While she waited for the sync to complete, she double-clicked on the file that John sent her. She lay back against the cushions and listened to Sherlock's composition. As expected, her daughter started kicking.

"Hi, Baby. That's your dad's music. Yes, that's right. He wrote it and played it." She giggled. "I wonder how he'd react if he knew Uncle John recorded him playing. He'd probably punch Uncle in the face!" The baby responded with more kicking. She giggled some more at the mental image of Sherlock punching his best friend. Then she realised that giving him silent treatment and using his clothing in experiments were more Sherlock's thing than outright violence.

Molly set up Sherlock's song to play on a loop and began to read Stephen King's new novel. After a couple hours, the baby quieted down and she felt exhaustion take over. She barely had time to put the book down on the table before she fell asleep on the couch.

* * *

A blonde man was hovering over her. His face was only inches from her own. He seemed to study her face, which she found odd. Then he pulled back and stood watching her. He was mumbling something to himself, but it was too low to reach her ears.

She had seen this man before. She just couldn't recall where and when.

And then Kitty Riley suddenly appeared in the room. She stood next to the blonde man and watched him with utter fear in her eyes. Then the reporter turned to her and whispered, "I'm sorry. I am so sorry." Tears now streamed down her face, but she didn't leave the man's side.

The blonde man, who never took his eyes off her, grinned. Then she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

* * *

_Did any of you expect Sherlock's reaction to Molly's pregnancy? Y'all don't hate me, do you? ;) I hope the fluff made up for the angst at the beginning. So what do you think happens next? _

_Thanks again to everyone who has read, favourited, reviewed, and/or followed this story. You guys rock!_


	5. Chapter 5

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: Sorry I freaked you guys out because of the last scene of the previous chapter. Although I did love the reactions to that scene. Hehe. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. **

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

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**Chapter 5**

Every night for three months, Molly would have the same nightmare. She noted certain variations in the dream, though. Sometimes they would be in her sitting room; other times, they would be at an empty concrete lot. Sometimes, she could catch the word 'Jim' from the man's mumblings; other times, she could understand nothing at all. But the blonde man and Kitty Riley would always be there. And the nightmare would always end with her staring down the barrel of the gun.

She now dreaded going to sleep because she knew that the horrible and mystifying dream would come. She knew she needed plenty of sleep to keep her baby and herself healthy. But she now feared that the nightmare would come true, that she and her daughter would meet their end at the hands of the blonde man.

She texted Mycroft shortly after having the nightmare for seven straight nights, and he assured her that a number of trained killers were watching over her. He seemed to be a man of his word, because nothing had happened so far. She hoped nothing bad ever would.

Meanwhile, she began her maternity leave three weeks before her due date. Violet had offered her a room in the Holmes mansion, but she declined. John and Mary also asked her if she wanted to stay with them until she gave birth. She declined as well. But Mary and John agreed that the former would take time off work and spend time with Molly until the birth. She would come home at night but would be with Molly during the day.

To the Watsons' surprise, Molly agreed to this arrangement. She would take this chance to tell Mary about the fake suicide, the father of her baby, Sherlock's mission, Moran, and the nightmares. Her best friend would know everything, Mycroft and Sherlock be damned. Their wrath mattered less than the potential danger she and her daughter were in. Besides, she knew her best friend would never betray her confidence, not even to John.

For the first Wednesday of her maternity leave, the two women planned to stay in and begin a marathon viewing of the fourth series of _Being Human_. After the fourth episode, she would tell Mary everything that had been weighing on her since that fateful day in her lab.

On that sunny and chilly morning, while she waited for Mary, she turned on the telly to watch her favourite morning news programme. She was greeted by Kitty Riley's photo behind the newsreader. She read the breaking news item on the bottom of the screen.

"JOURNALIST KITTY RILEY FOUND DEAD"

She gasped in shock. "Oh, my God." Then she remembered her nightmares. _Was that why I was dreaming about her and that blonde man_, she asked herself. _So why was his gun trained on _me_?_ She decided to pay attention to the newsreader's words.

"Riley was found in her Soho home with two gunshot wounds to the head. She also had bruises on her arms, neck, and face. Mrs Agatha McGinty, the victim's housekeeper, told police that Riley and Shane Morgan, her photographer and alleged lover, were arguing when she left the house at 6 PM. The housekeeper also mentioned that Morgan had been violent towards Riley in the past. Her testimony has made Morgan a person of interest in the homicide. If anyone would like to offer information on Shane Morgan's whereabouts, please call the number on your screen." A photo of a blonde man with thick eyebrows and piercing eyes, along with a phone number, stayed on the screen for ten seconds before going back to the newsreader.

Molly's hand flew to her mouth, muffling a loud gasp that she let out. She had seen that man before.

Her intercom buzzed, startling her and making her yelp. "Molls, it's me." She let Mary in without a word. The obstetrician's smile fell when she saw Molly's face. "Are you all right?"

"Y-yeah. Just shocked." She shook her head.

"Why? What happened? Is Lil Hooper OK?" She guided the pathologist back to the couch as she fired off these questions.

Molly pointed to the telly. The blonde woman only saw the newsreader talking about a minor scandal in the local government. She turned back to the pathologist. "Molls, what happened?"

"Kitty Riley's dead." She turned to Mary, utter fear evident in her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper.

"The so-called journalist who ruined Sherlock Holmes's life?" Molly nodded. "How?"

Tears welled up, but she took a deep breath to keep them from flowing. "She was murdered. Two gunshot wounds to her head and multiple bruises on her neck, arms, and face. The cops think her photographer killed her." She could no longer stop her tears. "Mary, I've seen that man before."

"Didn't they harass you when you got home on Sherlock's death anniversary?" Mary reached for her hand as she nodded.

"Yeah. But not just on that day." She swallowed. Her fear was beginning to take over. "Do you remember when we watched _The Hobbit_ and Anthea dragged me away?" The obstetrician nodded. "After Mycroft dropped me off at my old building, I bumped into that guy." She covered her face with her hands. "He congratulated me on my pregnancy. He knows I'm pregnant." Her now trembling hands fell on her lap. Mary covered them with her own. "I'm so scared."

"Why are you scared? Who is this guy?" Mary was now officially worried. She knew Molly rarely got scared by anything or anyone. She had seen the pathologist yelp and get flustered when startled. But she had never witnessed her friend crying, shaking, and absolutely terrified.

Molly took a deep breath. "He might come after me and the baby."

"Why would he come after you and Lil Hooper? Molly, who is he?" The pathologist continued to sob. The obstetrician forcefully shook her shoulders until her big brown eyes stared back at her. "Molly Anne Hooper, answer me! You are fucking scaring me!" Mary's voice broke but willed her tears not to fall.

Molly took a deep breath before answering. "He was Moriarty's lieutenant and he wants to exact revenge on Sherlock. That's why he might come after me and the baby." Covering her face with her hands, she resumed sobbing.

Mary pulled her closer and wrapped her arms around her. "What if he won't? Mycroft surely has people to make sure he doesn't harm you and the baby?" She wiped the tears away and kissed the top of her head.

"He does. But he told me this guy is sneaky and vicious." She rubbed her huge belly as she spoke. "If he knew about us, he'll kill us."

"How would he even know about you and Sherlock?" If this were a different time, Mary would have smirked as Molly almost confirmed her suspicions. But the pregnant pathologist still looked like she was going to fall apart, so she just hugged her tighter.

"I don't know. But he knew I dated Moriarty, whom Sherlock said was gay. What if his lieutenant was also his boyfriend?"

Mary swallowed. "Do you want me to call Lestrade? He can come over to protect you."

Molly broke away from her best friend's embrace and shook her head. "Bad idea. First, Lestrade has a pregnant wife. If anything happens to him because of me, I would never forgive myself. Second, if this guy saw that cops are here, he might get desperate and kill more people than is necessary. Third, I don't want him to see that I'm scared."

She nodded. "OK. What about Mycroft?"

She shook her head. "Not necessary. Mycroft has us on surveillance."

"What do you mean?"

"Mycroft has a number of trained killers watching me in case Moran tries to do anything. He'd know right away if Moran did anything."

Mary furrowed her brows in confusion. "Wait. If Mycroft has trained killers watching over you, then why are you scared? Doesn't that mean that you are protected?"

"Theoretically speaking, yes. But Mycroft said Moran is vicious. He sounds like he'll kill anyone that gets in his way. And if he was Moriarty's lover, then he'd likely hate me for dating Jim. He'd likely do anything to make me suffer. And if he knew about Sherlock and me, then he'll likely use me to get to him. And he's a sniper. He doesn't have to get near us to kill us."

"What fun would that be?"

The women whirled around until they saw a burly blonde man with bushy eyebrows and piercing grey eyes leaning against the wall. He looked like he came from the nursery.

"Oh, God." Molly couldn't help herself. "What are you doing here?"

"And how the fuck did you get in?"

The man laughed at the indignation in Mary's voice. She glowered at him, even as she set herself between her best friend and the intruder. He approached them and her hold on the pathologist's hands tightened. "Do you really think you can fight me off?" He grabbed Mary by the neck and began strangling her.

"Stop it!" Molly pleaded. "Stop hurting her! She has nothing to do with any of this!" She reached over and grabbed his large hands. He turned to her as she tried to pry his hands away from her friend's throat. He removed one hand from Mary's throat and slapped Molly across the face with it. She fell back on the couch.

"I will have fun with you later, bitch." He turned back to Mary and watched as she struggled for air.

"You can do whatever you want with me. Just please spare her! Please, Colonel Moran?" She didn't know where she found the words or the courage. But the tremble and the anguish in her voice did it. He let go of Mary and she dropped next to her on the couch, violently coughing, the marks of Moran's fingers becoming more visible as the seconds ticked by. She was reaching for Mary when he grabbed her arm and yanked her up.

"How nice of you to volunteer." He grinned at her. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Mary. "You should thank your friend now for saving your life. Because you're not gonna get another chance to speak to her. Do you know why? Because she's gonna be dead!" His cackle sent up chills in both women's spines.

"Don't you dare!" Mary shouted at him and tried to sit up despite the pain.

"I will do whatever the fuck I want, bitch. Thank her now! Or else I'll fucking kill you too." He brought the gun closer to Mary's face and he laughed at her whimper.

She looked up at her best friend, who was crying as hard as she was. "Molls, thanks for everything. I love you and Lil Hooper. Never forget that. John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, and Violet love you. Hell, even Sherlock and Mycroft." At the mention of the consulting detective's name, Moran's face lit up. "I swear to you, I will make damned sure that this fucker dies if he kills you or the baby. We all will. Especially Sherlock."

"I love you too, Mary. Tell John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Violet, and Mycroft I love them. Tell Sherlock I love him. Thanks for everything." Each word tore her apart, but Molly managed to say everything that she needed to say. Mary nodded.

Moran grabbed a clump of her hair and yanked it towards him. "OK, enough of that." He turned to Mary. "Tell Sherlock Holmes that I'll play with her before I kill her and her bastard baby. And don't bother trying to save them. They'll be dead before the fucking consulting detective resurfaces. Good thing, I'm getting a two-for-one deal." He grinned again and walked backwards, with Molly's hair in one hand and the gun trained on Mary's head in the other. It wasn't long before they disappeared down the fire escape.

Still sobbing, Mary brought out her phone and dialed her husband's mobile. "Molly's been kidnapped. I need Mycroft Holmes's phone number," she said before John could say hello.

"What? Who would kidnap Molly?"

"Damn it, John! Mycroft's number. Now!"

"OK, OK. Why don't I just call him on the way to Molly's flat? I'll be there in ten minutes." His voice was firm and he was suddenly in army-doctor mode.

"Thanks. Tell him it's Moriarty's lieutenant who kidnapped her. He'll know what to do."

"Will do. Did he hurt Molly? Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine. Just hurry up, John." Mary hung up without waiting for his response. She whispered a prayer to spare Molly and Lil Hooper's lives.

* * *

Sherlock was in his mind palace when his phone beeped. Thinking that Mycroft was only texting to inform him that he still hadn't found Moran, he ignored it. A moment later, his phone rang. He opened his eyes and took a moment to think of a good insult for his brother. He grabbed the phone from the bedside table with more force than was necessary and answered his brother's call. "I was in my mind-" he growled into the phone.

"Moran kidnapped Molly and hurt John's wife." The nearly undetectable distress in his voice showed his concern for the pathologist and her unborn child.

Sherlock stiffened and his hold on the phone tightened. He cursed himself for being reckless. _I shouldn't have texted her_, he bitterly thought. _I shouldn't have stayed that night in her flat. I should have brought her along with me. I shouldn't have slept with her._ Now the woman he cared about and their child were in mortal danger. "Does Mary know where they went?"

"I'm afraid not. She just said they went out through the fire escape. My men barely had time to alert me before Moran took them out. What are you going to do, brother?"

He took a deep breath. "I will have to reveal myself to John and the others. I will need the help of John, Mary, and Lestrade to rescue Molly."

"Very well," Mycroft said.

"When I find out where they are, I will kill Moran for threatening my family. Tell your minions I will kill anyone else who dares to take that honour for themselves." He hung up, not caring if his brother noticed his slip.

He stood from the bed and donned his coat and scarf. He left the nondescript flat his brother rented for him and hailed a cab.

"Where to, sir?"

He ignored the curious stare the cabbie gave him. He didn't care if he was recognizable. All he cared about was getting Molly and their child back, alive and unharmed. He would never forgive himself if she and the baby died. "221B Baker Street."

* * *

Meanwhile, John paced around the sitting area of his old flat. Mary, whose injuries he treated shortly after arriving at Molly's flat, sat on the couch and cried with Mrs Hudson. Lestrade sat on John's old armchair with his head cradled in his hands. "What are we going to do now?" Lestrade asked, his voice muffled.

"Mycroft said he will send someone here to help us. I just hope he shows up soon. The longer we wait, the less likely we'll find them alive." He looked over at the couch when he heard the women sob. "I'm sorry, but we have to be realistic."

They stayed silent for a few minutes. John sat down next to his wife and wrapped his arm around her. Mrs Hudson released Mary and clasped her hands together in prayer. His phone rang. "Mycroft, any news?"

"Prepare Mary for questioning. She was the sole witness and is the only one who can help us find them." John wondered at the almost undetectable tremor in his voice. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was the father of Molly's baby.

"OK." He turned to his wife after Mycroft ended the call. "Honey, try to remember what you can, all right? Mycroft's man is going to ask you questions to determine where Moran took them." She nodded.

"Let's start with what Moran was wearing."

All four looked up in utter shock at the owner of the baritone. They watched him as he stood in the doorway in his Belstaff coat and blue scarf. He looked apprehensive, afraid that a couple of fists would greet him, afraid that the time it would take to explain the reasons for his fake suicide would kill Molly and their child. He slowly approached them.

"Sherlock?" John found his voice and looked at his supposedly dead best friend in the eye.

"John." He nodded at the former army doctor. He then turned to Lestrade. "Inspector." He knelt before his landlady and held her clasped hands. "Mrs Hudson, you look beautiful today." He gave her a smile and a kiss on the cheek. The three only stared at him.

He turned to Mary. Her mouth was open and she was staring at him. The expression on her face would have been comical if not for the red marks on her neck. He held out his hand towards her. "You must be Mrs Mary Watson, née Morstan. It's a pleasure to meet you." She took his proffered hand and shook it.

"Hi. You must be Sherlock Holmes." She looked wary.

"Yes. Thank you for bringing back joy in my friend's life after my suicide," he said with all the sincerity he could muster.

"You're welcome." She gave him a tentative smile.

"And thank you for being Molly's friend and doctor. Now if you could describe-"

John raised his hand, palm up, and cut off what Sherlock was going to say. He slowly stood up from the couch. "Hang on a minute." Sherlock could see him ball up his right hand. Then John's fist connected with his left cheek. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. In a moment, he was standing back up and watching his furious best friend. "You were dead! I saw you jump. I saw you _die_. So what the fuck are you doing here?"

Lestrade stood from the armchair and restrained the former army doctor. John continued, angry tears freely flowing down his cheeks. "I mourned you. I buried you. How dare you saunter back in here after almost two years? Two fucking years, Sherlock, _two fucking years_!"

Sherlock stood listening to his best friend. He expected his rage. He expected those words. But it still hurt. "I am sorry, John. But if I didn't fake my death, you would have died. Not just you. Mrs Hudson and Lestrade too."

"What?" exclaimed all four of them.

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Yes. Moriarty had a sniper on each of you. I did it to save your lives."

"But how?" The anger was gone from John's voice.

"I don't have time to tell you everything. But, in summary, Molly prepared and administered a drug that slowed down my heart rate so I would appear dead. She also prepared an antidote to wake me up. The homeless network and a few of Mycroft's minions helped out too."

Lestrade held up his hand. "Wait, Molly? As in Molly Hooper?"

"Yes. Thank God Moriarty underestimated her cleverness and importance to me. I almost did too, but she said something that made me realise that she was the only one who could help me."

"I could have helped you too," John said, his tone laced with hurt.

"I know that. But you surely would have died if you knew my plan. I couldn't risk it."

"So what have you been doing all this time?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"I have been destroying Moriarty's criminal web, starting with your would-be killers. So you are safe now. It's just this last one that was elusive and incredibly sneaky."

"You mean Moriarty's lieutenant?" Mary asked. The four looked at her in surprise. "Molly mentioned it to me this morning just before he revealed himself."

"Mycroft must have told her." He smirked. "I didn't know he discussed my mission with her. Speaking of which, from what direction did he come?"

"From the nursery. He must have hidden there after he killed Kitty Riley."'

"Isn't that the reporter who...?" Mrs Hudson glanced at John.

"Yes," he and Sherlock answered in unison. They looked at each other and a smile broke on each of their faces.

Sherlock knew that the smile meant more questions would come later. But he didn't comment on it. It did lift his heart a bit to see his best friend smile. "I'll explain everything later. But we need to find Molly before Moran harms her!"

"The baby too!" Mary piped in.

He froze for a moment. "Yes, of course. Our child too. Anyway-" He looked up at them and stiffened at the shocked look on three faces. Mary, on the other hand, had a smirk on her face. _Clever woman_, he thought as he smirked back at her. He returned his attention to the three of them. "Yes. I am the child's father. Now if we could-"

A fist connected with his cheek again. When he looked up, he saw John restraining Lestrade, who was fuming. "You fuck! You left her alone to deal with this pregnancy. And then you have the _nerve_ to refuse to be a father to your child. How dare you?"

"I was eliminating the men and women who could and would kill each of you!" he shouted back. "Look, we're wasting time here. My family is in danger and we need to find them!"

At that, Lestrade calmed down and nodded. Sherlock turned to Mary. "Now, try to remember everything you could about Moran."

"Let me see. He's probably two inches taller than you, almost platinum blonde hair, burly, probably 200 lbs, piercing grey eyes, scar across one cheek-"

"Which cheek?" Sherlock now sat on the coffee table facing Mary. John sat next to his wife and Lestrade sat next to Sherlock.

"Uhm... Right. I could see that cheek clearly while he was strangling me." Her hand moved up to her neck, the marks of Moran's hands still visible and scarlet. John covered her hand with his.

"What was he wearing?"

"Dark hoodie, either dark blue or black, black shirt, black trousers, black training shoes."

"Hat?" Mary shook her head. "Why aren't you sure which colour of hoodie he wore?"

"Because his hoodie was slightly lighter than the rest of his clothing. It could have been just faded. But I remember that it looked dark blue when the sunlight hit it."

Sherlock nodded and pressed his palms and fingers together. He brought his joined hands to his face, where his thumbs rested under his chin. "Anything else? Other scars? Limp? Scratches from Kitty Riley's nails?"

"There were a few scratches on his forehead and cheeks. Nothing else."

Sherlock nodded again. "I need to go to her flat."

Twenty minutes later, Mary unlocked Molly's front door with her emergency key and led the men inside.

Sherlock studied the floor from the couch to the nursery. He took out the magnifying glass from his coat pocket and closely studied a set of footprints by the corner of the hallway. He pulled out his mobile and took a photo of the footprints. He beckoned the others to approach him and showed them the photo. They stared at him. He rolled his eyes and squatted in front of the footprints. He swiped his fingers across the dust and brought them to his nose. "This smells familiar."

"What do you mean?" Lestrade asked.

Ignoring the DI, he slowly walked towards the nursery while carefully observing the walls and the floor. He paused in the doorway and inhaled. "He stayed here overnight, waiting for Molly to wake up. The smell of the cigarette that he had before breaking into the flat is interfering with the citrusy smell that Molly keeps in the nursery. The door must have been closed since the smell is still here and since she didn't see him when she went to drink water in the middle of the night." He entered the room and looked around. He headed for the purple armchair by the crib. He gestured towards it. "He slept in this chair. Does anyone else see the blonde hair on the backrest?" His voice trailed off when he spotted the wall behind them. He walked towards the opposite wall and stared at the words spray-painted on it.

"IF YOU WANT TO SEE YOUR GIRLFRIEND ALIVE, COME TO BARTS ROOFTOP."

Sherlock bolted out of the room and out of the flat. Lestrade ran after him. Mary quickly locked the flat after her. She grabbed her waiting husband's hand and they ran after the detectives. Lestrade pulled out his phone and called for backup as he ran. Sherlock sat inside a cab that was waiting for John and Mary and shouted at them to hurry up. Lestrade started his car before he even closed the door. The Watsons quickly entered the cab.

"St. Barts!" shouted the three before the driver could ask them.

* * *

"Why are we here?" asked Molly as Moran dragged her onto the hospital's rooftop.

He dragged her towards a metal chair and pointed the gun at her. "Sit down." She slowly obeyed him. He tied her hands to the chair. He kept the gun pointed at her as he moved to stand before her. "Now wait here until your boyfriend arrives. I want to see his face when I kill you."

She couldn't stop the tears from falling. "Why wait for him? Go ahead. Kill me now. Sherlock doesn't care about me and our child anyway."

He bent down, his face a mere few inches away from Molly's. He watched her in silence for a moment. Then he slapped her across the face. "Don't you try to bluff your way out of this! I know you're trying to use reverse psychology. Maybe you're not as clever as Jim thought you were." He cackled before sobering up. "Did you sleep with Jim?"

She shook her head. "No. He was gay. Why would I sleep with him?"

Moran laughed. "You should have. He was an amazing lover. Do you know he meant to sleep with you? He meant to mark you as his so Sherlock Holmes wouldn't want you anymore."

"He never wanted me anyway." Moran only cocked an eyebrow toward her swollen belly. "Well, he was probably lonely. He wasn't in love with me when he slept with me."

"Are you sure about that? One, you are his favourite pathologist. Two, he asked you to help him fake his death. Three, you succeeded where Irene Adler failed. Four, he used your flat as his centre of operations without your knowledge. Five, I bet he's come back from hiding just so he and his friends could rescue you. If that ain't love, then I don't know what that is."

Molly only shook her head. Sherlock Holmes might be many things, but she was certain that he wasn't and would never be in love with her. "What does it matter? You're going to kill me and my baby anyway."

He chuckled. "I want you to know that he loves you because he's never gonna get the chance to tell you that himself. After I'm done killing you and your bastard child, I will finish what Jim started." He leaned forward and grabbed her hair. She looked into his grey eyes and saw cold-blooded murder in them. "Do you realise what's going to happen? I will kill you in front of him. Then I will kill him. I'll tell him to say hello to you in the afterlife."

"Why wait until the afterlife?" a deep rich baritone spoke behind her.

* * *

_Guess who's the knight in shining armour? Hehe. I hope y'all don't hate me for this chapter. Let me know what you think, all right?_

_Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, and/or favourited this story. You guys are the best!_


	6. Chapter 6

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: Did y'all miss me? I know it's been 29 days since I uploaded Chapter 5. But I knew I couldn't mess up this chapter (even though I probably did). This chapter is full of things I've never experienced, so you may find factual errors and whatnot. Apologies in advance. You can also blame the Internet. **

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Moran straightened up at the sound of the voice. Molly turned around to see Sherlock Holmes pointing a gun at her captor. He glanced at her and gave her a brief nod. "Hello, Molly."

Despite her impending end at the hands of the second most dangerous criminal in Britain, she smiled at the man she loved. "Hello, Sherlock."

"Are you all right?" he asked without looking at her. His focus was back on Moran, who also pointed his gun at him.

"My head hurts and my lower back is aching a bit, but I'm fine otherwise." She was sure that Sherlock would see through the lie. She knew he could deduce that, besides slapping her and making her watch him strangle her best friend, Moran dragged her by her hair all the way from her flat to the Barts rooftop. With one glance, he probably deduced that she witnessed Moran killing the rest of the agents that Mycroft assigned to protect her and her baby. "Can't say much about the baby, though. I haven't felt her move since he took me."

Sherlock nodded. "Let her go, Moran. She has nothing to do with this."

"She helped you fool the world, didn't she? She made sure you didn't die and she falsified documents for you. She lied to your friends and to your mother. _Of course, she has everything to do with this!_" Molly winced as Moran roared the last sentence.

"I asked her to do those things. Blame me, not her. Let her go!"

"Oh, I blame you too. I blame you the most. Because you conspired against Jim, he's dead and you're not!" Moran took one step towards Sherlock.

"We didn't conspire against him. We outsmarted him. Big difference. Let her go. Have you no respect for pregnant women?"

Moran laughed. "No, not when it's the one who helped you fake your suicide. Not when you're the one who got her pregnant. How did you manage that anyway? I thought you weren't interested in anyone."

"I'll tell you after you let her go." Sherlock gestured towards the door behind him without his eyes leaving the psychopath. "Remember Mary Watson, my friend's wife, whom you nearly strangled this morning? She's waiting for my signal. She will untie Molly and lead her down the stairs. Once they are safe, you can do whatever you want with me."

"No! Your precious Molly will die too. I will kill her and her bastard baby. Then I will kill you!" Moran's face was hideously red in anger as he screamed at Sherlock.

The detective's jaw clenched. His grip on the gun tightened and he glowered at Moran. He threw her a glance that conveyed his desperation to get her to safety. Half a moment later, he turned his attention back to Moran, all traces of anger and desperation gone. A tear rolled down her cheek as she realised, perhaps at the same time Sherlock did, that Moran would not spare her and her daughter in his quest for revenge.

"You will do nothing to her and the child. Your quarrel is with me, not with her. She doesn't need to be here. Let her go."

"Well, it got you out of hiding. You came back from the dead just to rescue her." He grinned at the detective.

"You threaten to kill the mother of my child and, therefore, my child. Of course I'll do everything in my power to rescue her. Why wouldn't I?"

Moran chuckled. "Jim was right. You care about her, more than you probably know or willing to admit. Why do you think Jim used her?"

"To make me jealous?" He spat out the last word.

Moran laughed. "Yes. And if Dr Watson weren't your partner in crime-solving and only friend, then it would have been Dr Hooper at the pool with you. Did you know that Jim planned to sleep with her? He knew I'd be awfully jealous, but he was still gonna go through with it. He could be rather rough and kinky." He glanced at Molly. "Don't know if our little pathologist could handle Jim's kinks." He glared at her. "Or maybe this bitch actually did."

"You're going to kill Molly because you thought she slept with Moriarty?" Sherlock scoffed. "She didn't. I made sure of that."

"Yes. You and your clever deduction changed his plans. So he decided to make the game more elaborate. And he was having so much fun!" Moran took two steps closer to Sherlock, prompting Molly to turn her chair so she could watch the two men without hurting her neck. The sound of metal legs scraping against the concrete didn't faze Moran, who was intent on blaming them for Moriarty's death. However, Sherlock's lips quivered almost imperceptibly. She hoped the psychopath missed that tiny movement. "Until you killed him!"

"I did not kill him." Molly wondered how Sherlock could stay so calm. A trained killer was threatening the life of his child, as well as his and hers, yet his voice didn't quaver and his glare didn't falter. But she trusted him to save her and the baby, as well as himself. She could only pray that she would live to see her daughter, born perfectly healthy, with Sherlock by her side. "He put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger."

"No, no, no!" Moran was sobbing now. "He couldn't have! That wasn't part of the plan!"

"Perhaps he didn't tell you everything in his plan for my downfall. So, only an idiot wouldn't be able to see that neither Molly nor I were to blame for your boyfriend's death. Let her go! Or _I will make you pay_," he growled.

To Molly's horror, Moran pointed his gun at her. "NO! She will die! You will die!"

Two shots rang out.

Molly screamed.

"Molly!"

Moran screamed.

* * *

Sherlock ran towards Moran. Molly had stopped screaming and was now crying, but she didn't sound like she was shot. He kicked away the psychopath's gun that landed near her, hoping that it didn't go off and hit her. It skidded to a stop at the edge of the rooftop without discharging, for which he was thankful. Moran lay on the ground, resting his bleeding hand on his also bleeding chest. Sherlock stepped on his uninjured hand and crouched down beside the supine man. He pressed the muzzle of his gun to the blonde man's forehead.

"Tell Moriarty when you see him in hell that Molly Hooper is mine. Never his. _Mine._"

"Fuck you, Holmes." Blood ran down Moran's jaw as he tried to spit up at Sherlock.

The consulting detective laughed. "No, Colonel Moran. Fuck _you_, for hurting my dearest friend's wife and for kidnapping and threatening to kill my family." He pulled the trigger just as John, Mary, Lestrade, and several members of New Scotland Yard reached the roof.

"Sherlock, no!" John yelled as Sherlock stood after emptying the magazine into Moran's head. The latter stared at Moran's lifeless body for a few moments. The former army doctor lowered his rifle and stood next to him with concern on his face.

The detective turned to his friend and nodded at the rifle. "Perfect aim as always." John only stared at him. Sherlock turned around and knelt by Molly, who was rubbing her wrists after Lestrade and Mary freed her from her bonds. "Are you injured? Were you shot?"

Mary brought out her stethoscope and lifted Molly's shirt before she could answer. The obstetrician glanced at the detective and mouthed an apology. "No, no. I'm fine." She turned to her best friend. "How is she? Is she OK?"

Mary finished inspecting the baby before she stood up and smiled at Molly. "She's fine, I think. Heart rate is elevated, but I'm chalking that up to the stress that Moran put you both up to. I need to give you a full check-up to be sure." Glancing at the worried detective, she smiled and stepped back.

Understanding her intent, Sherlock nodded and searched for injuries on her. Relieved to find none, he cradled Molly's face with his enormous hands. "We're having a girl?"

Despite the physical pain and the stress of being kidnapped, as well as the commotion caused by the forensic services department processing the crime scene, Molly laughed. When he frowned at her reaction, she gave him a peck on the lips and smiled. "Yes, we are."

He smiled back at her. He stood up and gently pulled her to her feet. He gathered her in his arms and stroked her hair. "I thought I've lost you," he whispered to her. "I'm sorry," he reiterated.

She wasn't sure if he was apologising for ignoring her and hurting her in the past, for leaving her on her own during the pregnancy, for refusing to be a father to their child, or for failing to protect her and their child. She decided to accept his apology for all of them. She hugged him back. "It's OK. We're OK," she whispered to him.

They held each other while the rest tried to ignore them. Sergeant Sally Donovan and Anderson, on the other hand, couldn't take their eyes away from the pair. Lestrade lightly tapped Anderson's shoulder and mouthed for him and Donovan to get back to work. They reluctantly did as John and Mary gazed at their best friends with a relieved smile on their faces.

After several minutes, Lestrade stood next to the consulting detective and cleared his throat. Molly and Sherlock broke apart and looked at him. "Sorry, but I need her statement. Yours too."

Sherlock pulled away from her and studied her. "I'm afraid our statements will have to wait. Mary still has to give her a full check-up. If anything happens to my child, I'll kill Moran again."

Donovan and Anderson stood gaping at Sherlock's words. John and Mary looked at each other and shook their heads. Lestrade sighed and then nodded. "Of course."

Sherlock turned to Molly. "Can you walk?" She rolled her eyes but only nodded. He wrapped his left arm around her waist and nodded at the DI. Lestrade began walking towards the door of the rooftop. Sherlock took her right hand with his free hand and helped her walk despite her insistence that she could do it on her own. The Watsons followed them, arms around each other's waist.

They were halfway down the first flight of stairs when Molly doubled over. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked.

She winced. "Contractions." She groaned as the pain took over her entire body.

"Braxton Hicks?" Sherlock asked Mary, who hurried towards her best friend.

"I hope so." She examined Molly's belly with her stethoscope. "We'd better hurry up. All this excitement might induce early labour."

A minute passed before the contractions ceased and Molly was able to move. They quickened their steps until they reached the next floor down. They took the lifts, where her waters broke, to the maternity ward and put Molly in a private room at Sherlock's insistence. Mary scrubbed up while her husband and Sherlock disinfected themselves. The obstetrician was examining Molly's cervix when the men entered the room.

"Holy shit," she said as she peeled off the latex gloves. "She's eight centimetres dilated already."

"What?" Molly exclaimed. John and Sherlock froze in place.

Mary grinned at her. "Your baby just escaped a gruesome death at the hands of a psychopath. What does she do? Demand to be born immediately!" She noticed the panic on Sherlock's face. She smirked at him. "It's almost baby time, buddy. Are you ready?"

The consulting detective, who seemed to be torn between delivering the baby himself and fleeing to Baker Street, glanced at Molly, who was racked with pain from another set of contractions. He nodded at Mary though the fear in his eyes remained.

Four hours later, Molly's contractions were coming every four minutes. Mary came back to examine her again and she grinned as she removed her fingers from Molly's vagina. "Honey, it's time."

Sherlock, who had been ordered to hold Molly's hand through the contractions, felt an almost painful squeeze in his hand. "Stay, please?"

He nodded. "Yes, of course." He looked over at John, who saw the fear in his eyes.

"Molly, would you like me to stay too?" he gently asked her. She could only give him a nod as extreme pain took over her.

"Molls, do you want the epidural?" Mary asked her.

"No, I'm fine. Let's just get on with it," she groaned.

A nurse offered Sherlock a bowl of ice chips. John saw that his entire focus was on Molly so he took the bowl and held it towards Sherlock. "Feed her one," he said in a low voice. The detective obeyed him without a word.

"Sherlock, John, help her sit up." The men complied and held her elbows to keep her upright. She looked at the machine and at her best friend's face and knew that another set of contractions was coming. "Honey, start pushing when the contractions hit you, OK?"

Molly nodded and, a moment later, began pushing. She pushed several more times before the baby's head appeared. "Molls, let's try panting breaths for the next one, OK?" Several minutes later, Mary cradled the baby's head and looked at the woman before her. "Molls, I need you to push. Now." She did, her nails digging into John and Sherlock's palms, all curses known to man spewing out of her mouth. The men winced but wisely stayed silent. Several pushes later, Mary supported the baby's small body as she slid out of Molly's vagina. The Watsons, Sherlock, and Molly held their breaths until they heard a small cry that quickly grew louder.

Sherlock watched in awe as Mary held up the crying baby. He looked over at Molly, who had dropped back down on the bed. She was sweaty and red from exertion. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she looked up at him and gave him a bright smile. "We did it," she spoke in a quiet tone.

The emotions that the day brought began to overwhelm him. Earlier, he felt rage and intense desire to kill the man who kidnapped Molly. Until four hours ago, he feared for Molly and their child's lives. After Moran drew his last breath, he was relieved that Molly and their child were finally safe. Now, he felt intense joy in witnessing his daughter's birth. It was too much for him, and it rendered him speechless. So he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it in response.

When he looked up, he locked eyes with Mary's teary blue ones. She was waiting at the opposite side of the bed with the baby in her arms. John stood next to her with a huge smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "Would Mum and Dad want to see their beautiful daughter?" Molly sat up as Sherlock propped up the pillows behind her. She held out her arms in response and Mary laid the baby on them.

Molly gazed at her daughter and tears welled up. "Hi, Gorgeous. Welcome to the world." The infant scrunched up her face and turned to her mum. She let the tears flow as she kissed her daughter's forehead and small fists.

She looked up at Sherlock, who now stood frozen next to the bed. Her heart went out to him when she saw the fear and anxiety in his eyes. "Sherlock, would you like to kiss her before I breastfeed her for the first time?"

He swallowed. "I don't know," he said softly. "I don't want to crush her or drop her."

Molly smiled. "Well, come closer so you won't drop her. Plus she just wants a peck. You can hold her later."

He slowly nodded and approached the bed. He bent over and kissed the baby's forehead. She moved her head from side to side. "Hello, Baby." Her brown eyes met her father's blue-green ones. The fear in his eyes disappeared and was replaced by utter joy. _I have a daughter and she's as beautiful as her mum_, he thought. _Anyone who dares to hurt her will answer to me._ He smiled and kissed his daughter's small fists.

Mary cleared her throat. "What's her name, Mum?" She helped Molly open her hospital gown and covered her breast with the blanket in which the baby would be wrapped. Sherlock barely registered when John excused himself to get coffee for the three of them as he watched his daughter quickly latch on to her mum's nipple.

Molly looked over at Sherlock. "Violet Minerva Anne Hooper?"

He furrowed his brows. "You're naming her after my mum?"

She nodded. "Well, she'd been wonderful, especially during my pregnancy. And it'll soften her heart enough that she'll forgive you sooner than she should. You did lead her to believe that her younger son is dead."

He rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue with her. "You still don't want to give her the Holmes name? It's safer now, since Moran is dead. Everyone else would - and should - think twice about threatening my family."

Molly scrunched her nose as she considered it. "How about Violet Minerva Anne Hooper-Holmes?"

"It's going to take her forever to write her name at school, you know?" He now smirked at her.

John came back into the room. "What do we call her anyway?" he asked after handing his wife and his best friend steaming cups of coffee. Sherlock tasted his and winced.

Molly shrugged. "Minerva?" She rolled her eyes and smiled at Sherlock. "Minerva Holmes?"

Sherlock's grin widened. "Violet Minerva Anne Holmes. It's not boring. I like it."

* * *

Sherlock sat next to the bed as Molly dozed off. Even though she looked exhausted, there was a soft, contented smile on her face. He reached over and lightly caressed her cheek. _She's so beautiful_, he mused. "Forgive me for everything," he murmured before he kissed her forehead.

He could hear John's measured footsteps as he approached the room. He waited until his friend cleared his throat before looking at him. He stood at the doorway, staring at him, the pain and grief of the past two years evident in his eyes. "Yes?" He spoke quietly so that Molly wouldn't wake from much-needed slumber.

John entered the room and stood next to him. "How is she?"

He gazed at the sleeping pathologist. "Surprisingly, she's fine. Physically, that is. Mary says she only needs plenty of rest. However, while I trust your wife to look after Molly's reproductive system, I think you should give her a thorough check-up."

"She has her own doctor, you know." The detective gave him a look. John took a deep breath and muttered his agreement.

Sherlock turned his attention back to the woman. "She's clearly exhausted judging by the dark bags under her eyes, although I don't think a few hours of being kidnapped by Colonel Moran could cause them. No, months of worry and emotional stress caused them." He glanced at his friend with a heart full of regret. "_I_ caused them."

John didn't contradict him. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you."

He sighed. _Here we go_, he thought. He glanced at Molly and observed her breathing. Satisfied that it was steady and deep, he turned to John and stood from the chair. "Hang on," he said as he removed his notebook from his suit pocket. He tore a fresh leaf and scribbled on it. It read:

"WITH JOHN. BE BACK LATER. RING FOR THE NURSE IF YOU REQUIRE ANYTHING. - SH"

He placed the note under the water glass on the side table to keep it from flying away. Then he and John walked out of the room. "Mind if we talk while I observe my daughter?"

John smiled. "Of course not."

"Where's Mary?" She had disappeared after assuring him that Molly was physically fine.

"She has an emergency consult. She should be done in an hour."

"Hmmm. I didn't see Lestrade when Molly was giving birth. Did he go back to Scotland Yard?"

John nodded. "He'll get your statements whenever Molly feels up to it. He knows she went through a lot today. Your official statements can wait."

They arrived at the nursery. Baby Minerva was placed in a crib in the middle row. Sherlock could observe through the window that she slept soundly, her breathing steady and deep, like her mother's. "Do you think all the excitement today has any adverse effect on Minerva?"

"I don't think so. Mary gave her an Apgar score of 10. Mary made sure that Molly stayed healthy throughout the pregnancy. Also, as a doctor, Molly knew she needed to be healthy. From what Mary told me, she ate the right foods, exercised enough, slept well. Except for the third trimester, that is. She was having nightmares about Kitty Riley and a blonde man. Anyway, apart from your Asperger's, which I hope Minerva doesn't inherit," he paused to laugh at the glare that Sherlock gave him, "and the emotional stress on Molly, she should be perfectly fine."

"Was it noticeable? The emotional stress?" John noted a touch of worry in his voice.

He shook his head. "Not really. Every time I saw her, she'd be her cheerful, kind, sweet self. Only once did I see her sad. That was the night after you refused to be a father." Sherlock's jaw clenched at his words but he remained silent. John stared at him until he took a deep breath.

"Even if I knew that she was pregnant with my child, I couldn't be with her at the time. It would have been too dangerous. John, I was killing men and women that would kill my friends without hesitation or compunction. They already knew that she helped me fake my death. It would have been too easy for them to kill a pregnant woman."

John held up his hand. "What do you mean? Moriarty's network knows about Molly?"

"Just those high up in the organization. They suspected that she helped me because she didn't excuse herself from performing my fake post-mortem and because she has access to cadavers. I have to admit that that was clever of them. I never confirmed their suspicions, but one or two of them came close to the truth." He smirked and silently congratulated Moriarty for employing cleverer-than-usual criminals. "They also knew she was pregnant and they suspected it was mine." He turned to look at John. "That was one of the reasons I blew up on her when I found out. No, they didn't tell me she was pregnant," he answered the questioning look that his friend gave him. "I found that out on my own. But they hinted at it. I didn't figure it out until I saw her myself. She was six months pregnant at the time."

"And the other reason you reacted the way you did?"

Sherlock was silent for a few minutes. He only gazed at his daughter. "I was terrified," he finally spoke, his voice breaking for a microsecond before he collected himself. "I don't know how to be a father. I've had little helpful data in that area. My own father wasn't a good role model and my brother wasn't much better at raising me. I couldn't possibly be a good dad. You know how I am. What makes you think I wouldn't be harsh or even be dangerous to my own child?"

"Molly would be there. She'd keep you in line. She'll guide you. She knows how badly you'd need lessons in parenting and she's willing to help you."

"But what if Molly's asleep and I'm left to take care of Minerva? What if she cries into the night and won't sleep?"

"Play your violin. She seems to like it." Sherlock turned to look at John, whose cheeks turned red. The consulting detective raised his eyebrow until the former army doctor sighed. "I recorded you playing what I think is your own composition one night when I couldn't sleep. I played it for Molly when we helped her move. Minerva kicked at the sound of violin music. When we cheered too loudly, she stopped. When we quieted down, she resumed kicking." He chuckled. "It was an amazing sight."

"Which night was that?"

"The night I recorded you?" Sherlock nodded. "I think that was after we finished the Baskerville case. After we got back from Devon."

"Yes, I remember now." He had been attempting to hide his fear and doubt from John. He was sitting in front of the fireplace at Cross Keys Pub just after John stormed out, using his considerable brain power to figure out how he could have seen what he saw, when Molly's face filled his mind. To his surprise, her cheery smile and the soft, caring look in her eyes calmed him down, which then cleared his mind enough that he was able to think of John interviewing Henry Knight's therapist. After finishing the case, he spent hours in his mind palace visiting her room and puzzling over the many things about her that he didn't realise he retained. He picked up his violin once he emerged from his mind palace and began to play a new melody as he mused about the awkward, mousy, lovely, clever, kind, and faithful Molly Hooper. He realised then that he felt something for her. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was different from how he felt about John, Mrs Hudson, and Lestrade. He realised that she wasn't just a Barts employee who granted him much more access than he deserved. She had become _his_ pathologist, the only one with whom he was willing to work, the only woman who shared his scientific and morbid interests, the only woman he cared about (after Mummy and Mrs Hudson, of course), and only one of the several people he could trust with his life. When he finished composing, he decided that he would attempt to be gentler to her and be more considerate of her feelings before spouting off his mostly cruel deductions.

Silence fell over them as Sherlock reminisced and as John watched Minerva in her crib. "What really happened on the roof? With Moriarty, I mean?"

Sherlock took a deep breath before relating everything that Moriarty told him, the extended version of Molly's part in his fake suicide, and his mission to destroy the consulting criminal's vast network. He took another deep breath when he finished his narrative. "Do you forgive me?" he asked when John didn't say anything.

The former army doctor only nodded through his tears. "But you still deserved the punches that you got," he said with a smile. He wiped his tears away and looked around him.

Sherlock chuckled. "Only the nurse checking on Minerva saw you tear up." He chuckled again when John cursed under his breath.

"When was Minerva conceived?" he asked after a minute of silence.

Sherlock sighed. "June 15."

John turned his head and stared at his friend, his eyes as big as saucers. "You mean, you went to her flat and slept with her on your fake death anniversary?" He nodded. "Interesting. May I ask why?"

"It wasn't my intention to sleep with her on my so-called fake death anniversary!" he growled in a low voice.

John raised his hands, palms towards his best friend. "OK, OK. But why, of all days, did you go to her that day?"

"I wasn't even planning to go to her flat. Then I had this brilliant idea to get her a postcard of the Reichenbach Falls. I thought she would find it funny. So I bought one and slid it in with her usual mail. I saw the reporters outside Barts, so I disguised myself as a middle-aged man and picked her up when she got off work. I even saw Kitty Riley and her photographer waiting for her outside her building. Then she ordered pizza, which she only orders when she's especially upset. I snuck in when the delivery boy brought it up to her and hid in the maintenance room until I knocked on her door."

"Wait. So you wanted to spend your fake death anniversary with Molly?"

"Well, yes. I couldn't risk visiting Baker Street or Scotland Yard."

"I don't even live at Baker Street anymore. Mary and I have our own flat."

"I know that. But you and Mary visited Mrs Hudson that day. I may not have hung around but I passed by my old flat. I saw you arrive. You just didn't see me because I hid in a deserted flat opposite 221B."

John nodded. A smirk played on his lips but he quickly wiped it off when his friend cocked an eyebrow at him. "OK, go on. But, for the love of everything holy, I don't need the graphic details of your night of passion. Knowing that you've had sex is more than enough for me, thank you very much."

The consulting detective chuckled. "As if I'll describe it to you." He fell silent as he recalled the feel of Molly's skin, the taste of her lips, and the wonderful sounds she emitted that night. He felt his pants tighten and he immediately regretted remembering that night. To his annoyance, he heard his friend chuckle.

"Just remember that she may not be ready for sex until after the six-week postnatal check. That is, if she'll let you."

Sherlock glared at his friend before smirking. "She won't be able to resist me if I wear my purple shirt all the time." John joined him in laughter.

"So what time did you leave her flat?" he asked a few minutes later. "I don't suppose you stayed until she woke up."

"Around 1 AM. I didn't want to risk it further."

"And you didn't want the awkward conversation in the morning," added John.

"Yes. You know that sentiment isn't my area. After our lovemaking, I didn't think a verbal declaration of love was necessary."

John stared at him. "So you do love her? And not just because she's your favourite pathologist and she saved your life. Otherwise, you wouldn't have broken your twenty-odd-year vow of celibacy. I mean the kind that makes you kill anyone who harms her and makes you want to spend the rest of your life with her."

Sherlock didn't answer right away. Did he care about Molly? He killed a man to save her, didn't he? Did he want to spend the rest of his life with her? He could picture himself retiring somewhere outside London with Molly after many more years of detective work, with a grown Minerva occasionally visiting them. "Yes, I do love her. And, for some reason, she still loves me." He turned to John, the fear that the last bit was no longer true clear in his eyes. "Doesn't she?"

"You know she does. Even when you were being a dick to her, she still loved you. But are you ready to be in a long-term romantic relationship? Maybe even marriage?"

Sherlock sighed before answering. "Is anyone actually ever ready to be in a relationship with another person? I will have to do extensive research to keep her happy."

"You do know that she'll be happy because she's with you, don't you?"

"I do know that. But you know how I am. I will hurt her with my harsh words, with my stubbornness, with my ignorance of romance. It won't be long until she realises the illusion isn't worth it. Not even when we're raising Minerva." Sherlock winced at the sharp pain in his chest at the idea that she would stop loving him.

John sighed loudly. "She's stuck with you despite your horrible treatment of her. She's under no illusion that you'd magically change into the most romantic partner. She loves you, everything about you, God help her. I don't think you need to worry about her feelings."

He nodded as he processed his friend's words. "John, since you have extensive experience in relationships, I would need your," he cleared his throat before continuing, "help."

John smiled. "Right. And then you'll dismiss my help and go off on your own."

The detective chuckled. "Obvious. I know her better than you do."

John laughed. "Are you sure about that? What's her middle name?"

"Anne. It's Minerva's other middle name. In fact, her mum, her maternal grandmother, etc., were all named Anne. Catholic thing."

"OK. When's her birthday?"

"March 27. Without fail, she would wear red on that day. Plus, I hacked into her employee file so I know her basic information."

"What's her favourite colour? Favourite flower?"

"Colours: pink and deep purple. Her blog is pink, and the decor in her old flat had deep purple accents. Her wardrobe is also full of those colours. Flowers: tulips and lilacs. She keeps a vase of each in her office and her flat."

"Favourite musical performer?"

"I can't pinpoint which one, but she likes to listen to various genres. She owns pop, rhythm and blues, jazz, and classic rock CDs. I have never observed her listening to classical music, though. Which is a damn shame."

"She does. Well, she played classical music every night to Minerva in the womb. Remember that thing about your own composition? Plus, I think I've seen her with an iPod mini. When I asked her why she had one when she already has an iPhone, she said it's full of classical music for the baby."

Sherlock smirked. "That is great news, indeed. Maybe I can persuade her to stop listening to that atrocious group of five boys." John joined him in laughter.

Silence fell over them for a few minutes. Minerva stirred in her sleep and both men were fascinated by the infant's movements. "So why did you sleep with her?"

"You need to know that sleeping with her wasn't my intent at all. I just needed to visit her so I could feel some semblance of normalcy, of my old life. I needed to be with someone who knew me before I had to die. Since only Mycroft and Molly knew that I was alive, it was an incredibly easy choice. But she looked so sad. I might be wrong, but I really hope that she just missed me so much. And then she was wearing nightclothes that showed her curves. And I just couldn't help myself. She was so beautiful and sad and I'd missed her. One touch set me off and, next thing I knew, we were undressing and-"

John held up his hands. "Stop. Stop right now."

"And then it was over. But I couldn't stay, for reasons you already know. So I left, thus hurting her and making her sad again." He sighed before continuing. "You know, I had a feeling that Moran would go after Molly. Whenever I caught and tortured those high in Moriarty's organization, they would always talk about her. They'd tell me that Moriarty meant a bigger role for her in my downfall if you weren't in my life. I'd been so afraid that Moran would hurt Molly because he knew that it would kill me. So when my brother told me that he'd kidnapped her, literally my worst fears realised, I knew that I needed to kill him. There's just no other way. No one hurts the woman I love and my child and expects to get away with it."

John stared at him. "You really have changed, haven't you?"

"Well, faking your death to save people's lives, spending two years hiding out and killing criminals, discovering romantic feelings for the most unlikely woman, and, oh, learning that you're going to be a father can change a man." He rolled his eyes at his friend. "Don't be an idiot, John."

Sherlock expected the man to be offended, but John surprised him by laughing. "You know what, I'll amend what I said. You've changed a bit. Only a bit." After a pause, John turned his serious face at his friend. "So what now?" The detective cocked his eyebrow at him. "I mean after Molly and Minerva go home, what are you going to do? Are you going to move in with her to help take care of your baby? Are you making them move to Baker Street?"

Sherlock considered his question for a minute. "Well, I could protect them better if they lived with me in 221B. Mrs Hudson could babysit when we're both working. But I doubt Molly would want to move to my flat. So I will have to move in with her for a bit and help take care of Minerva."

John nodded. "I think they should move in with you. It makes more sense, although her flat is closer to Barts. You can turn my old bedroom into a nursery and she can sublet her flat. I'm sure Mrs Hudson would love to help out with the baby sometimes. Do you want me to help talk her into moving to Baker Street?"

He nodded. "That would be great, thanks."

They watched Minerva in silence until they heard clacking of stilettos towards them. They turned and saw Anthea walking with her eyes glued to her phone. She stopped a few paces away from John and looked up. "Mr Holmes and Mrs Holmes require the two of you in Dr Hooper's room."

The detective cursed under his breath and strode towards Molly's room. John followed him with an amused look on his face. Anthea walked behind John, her eyes on her phone again.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He smiled when he saw who had texted him.

Violet wants to talk to you. - Molly

So I figured. Be there in a minute. - SH

He took a deep breath before entering the room. He was barely inside when strong arms wrapped around him. He recognised the scent and returned the hug. "Hello, Mum."

"Sherlock, I've missed you so much!" Violet sobbed in his shirt. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "But you're in big trouble, young man."

"I've missed you, too, Mum." He looked over at Molly, who was smiling and crying at the same time. He looked into her eyes and knew that he was home.

He was finally home.

* * *

_Apologies to MorMor shippers and Directioners. Please don't send me hate. _

_So what do you guys think? Was it worth the four-week wait? Did y'all like it?  
_

_Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, and/or favourited this story. MWAH!  
_


	7. Chapter 7

**YOUR WORST FEARS**

**A/N: You didn't think I'd end this story without resolving everything between Sherlock and Molly, did you? Hehe. Hope you enjoy this (last) chapter! **

**I own nothing. Everything belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. If I owned Sherlock and Molly Hooper, then there would be a lot more Sherlolly in the show. All mistakes are mine. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Molly unlocked her door and brought Minerva's car seat in with her. Sherlock followed with Molly's duffel bag and the baby tote bag and locked the door behind him. She put her purse on the couch and placed the car seat on the coffee table. She carefully lifted the sleeping five-day-old infant and shifted her until her small head comfortably rested on the crook of her arm. She hummed a lullaby as she slowly walked towards the nursery and then gently placed Minerva in the crib. She gazed down on her daughter and smiled.

She turned around and surveyed the room. The graffiti that Moran wrote on the wall was gone. The day before, Mary and John cleaned up the flat and painted over the graffiti. The purple armchair had also been replaced by a burgundy one, thanks to Sherlock. _He knew I didn't want to be reminded of Moran sleeping in that chair the night before he almost killed Mary and threatened to kill me_, she thought. She turned to see him standing at the doorway.

Despite the crisp suit and purple dress shirt that he wore, he looked like a little boy who wanted her approval. "I put your bag in the bedroom. I'm about to put your laundry in the washer." He smiled at her. "If that's all right, I mean," he added a moment later.

"It's OK. I can deal with them later. Come in."

He entered the room and stood next to her, gazing down on Minerva. "I can do the laundry, you know. I lived alone before John moved in and I did my own laundry." She giggled at his offended tone and sulky pout.

"Only when Mrs Hudson was away and when Mycroft wouldn't let Anthea pick up your dry-cleaning." Sherlock smirked. "I didn't say you can't do it. You just don't have to do it right now. Let's just relish the quiet before she starts crying and waking us up in the middle of the night." She smiled at him.

"You mean you. I don't need as much sleep as you do."

"So you're on nighttime duties then?" She giggled, although she expected him to protest.

"That makes sense, yes. Unless I have a case." He bent down to stroke Minerva's curly hair so he missed the astonished look that Molly gave him.

She nodded in an attempt to hide her surprise, even though Sherlock couldn't see her. "OK. When I get back to work in six months or so-"

"Mrs Hudson can babysit," he interrupted as he straightened up.

She sighed. "Sherlock, we've been over this. Mrs Hudson has a life of her own. She has friends and gentleman callers. We can't just dump Minerva on her when we're at work. Plus I registered her in the crèche near Barts three months ago. She'll be fine there."

"Why don't you want to move in with me?" His blue-green eyes seemed to pierce into her very soul.

She felt like she was going to melt, but she held her ground. "It's not that I don't want to move in with you. It's just..." She paused as she searched for the right words to convey her feelings. "I love this flat. Although I moved in only four months ago, I already consider this flat as my home. It's perfect. It's closer to Barts than Baker Street is. Plus Mycroft has paid the rent for two years. I don't want to waste his money."

He furrowed his brows and stared at her. "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Mycroft didn't just pay the rent for two years. He took the liberty of buying the flat for you. It's yours, Molly. So you can do what you want with it. You can sell it or rent it out."

Molly was dumbfounded. "B-but why? I mean, w-why would he buy it for me?"

He shrugged. "A gift, perhaps. Or more likely, he wanted to provide a home for you and our child in case I didn't change my mind or in case I didn't come back. I guess it's the Holmes way."

"Oh, my God." She couldn't believe what Mycroft had done. "Remind me to thank him when he comes by next week."

"Will do," he said with a nod. "See? You don't have to live here. You can move in with me."

"But this flat is so much closer to Barts. Baker Street is in the opposite direction. I'll have to walk five minutes farther to drop off Minerva at the crèche and then walk back to Barts. It's more work than it should be."

"But you're not even going to work for at least six months. Hell, you can afford to take the entire year off. We can move to Baker Street until you go back to work."

She sighed. "Tea? If this is turning into an argument, then we'd better move to the kitchen or the sitting room. I don't want to disturb Minerva's sleep. Come on, Sherlock." She kissed her daughter's forehead before grabbing his hand. But before she could drag him out of the nursery, he gestured for her to wait until he had kissed her forehead as well. He let her lead him out of the room without a word.

She let go of his hand in the hallway. She didn't really want to, but she found it odd that he was letting her touch him. She had expected him to go back to his aloof self since Moran was dead. This sweet and caring version of Sherlock Holmes was alien to her. She didn't know what to think. She didn't know how to react. She liked it, of course. But she was afraid that he would go back to being callous and abrupt when he grew bored of taking care of their child, of their arrangement, whatever this was.

She put on the kettle and busied herself with preparing tea. She heard the scrape of metal legs against the kitchen floor. She glanced at him and saw that his hands were steepled under his chin and his eyes were closed. _He's in his mind palace_, she concluded.

She put two sugars into his tea and one sugar and some milk in hers. She placed his mug in front of him and sat across from him. She stared at him as she held her mug with both hands and sipped her tea.

He opened his eyes and caught her staring at him. "What should I do if you're asleep and Minerva wants to be fed?" He sipped from his mug and let out a soft, appreciative moan.

She leaned forward and set her mug on the table. "You can wake me if she's hungry. Or I can pump my milk into a bottle or two before I go to bed."

He nodded. "I think I prefer the latter. I'd rather not wake you. What if she needs changing?"

"Then change her nappy. I've shown you how to do it. You've done it. You barely even flinched at the sight. As long as you don't delete it from your mind palace, we'll be fine."

"I can stand it. I may even conduct experiments on infant stool. Who knows? I might use it in the future."

She shook her head but smiled in amusement. "OK, fair enough. Any other questions?"

"When are you planning to go back to work?"

She raised her eyebrow. "Ask me again in five months. I have an option to come back after six months of maternity leave. It's too early to tell what I'm going to do then."

He sipped his tea. "Any house rules?"

She smiled and cleared her throat before counting off her rules. "One, no experiments - I repeat, NO EXPERIMENTS - on Minerva. If you fuck up my daughter, I will kill you myself. Two, no body parts in the fridge and no messy and smelly experiments. You can store your experiments, especially the potentially toxic ones, at your flat. Three, no experiments on Toby at all. I will skin you if you do anything to him. Four, you will lie down or sit on the bed every night, whether you sleep or not. Of course, there's an exception if you're on a case. But when you're home, you will stay in bed every night. Five, you will not shoot your gun at the wall when you're bored. Six, you will play your violin every night to lull her to sleep. I played your song every night before I went to bed during the third trimester so I'd like to continue that." She scrunched her nose as she thought of more rules. "I guess that's it for now. I'll type up the rules and will probably add more. What do you think?"

He had pouted at rules number one and two but smirked at rule number three onwards. "Agreed. I'll just perform my experiments at Baker Street during the day."

"Great." She smiled at him. To her surprise, he returned her smile.

They sat in silence for several minutes as they finished their teas. He shut his eyes again and seemed to go back to his mind palace, perhaps to commit the rules to memory. She stared at him and wondered why he was still being nice to her. It couldn't be because he finally fell for her, could it? She shook her head at the ridiculous thought. _He's probably just trying to make up for all the crap I went through during the pregnancy_, she concluded.

A lusty cry broke the silence in the flat. Sherlock and Molly looked at each other. They stood from their respective chairs. Sherlock began cleaning up the kitchen table, but Molly grabbed his wrist. "You can deal with that later. Let's see what woke up our baby girl."

He nodded and let himself be led back to the nursery. "She probably needs feeding."

Molly picked up the crying infant, muttering comforting words to her. She sat on the burgundy armchair and Sherlock knelt in front of her. She felt his gaze as she unbuttoned her blouse and revealed her breast. Minerva immediately latched on to her nipple.

He smirked. "See? I was right. When she starts out loudly and it intensifies, she's hungry."

She smiled at him. "Excellent deduction, Daddy." His hand covered the hand that held the baby's bum. He laced their fingers together as they both gazed at their daughter. After a long moment and with great effort, she tore her eyes away from the baby and looked at Sherlock. "You still up for doing the laundry?" she asked after clearing her throat.

He nodded and stood up. He placed a gentle kiss on the top of Minerva's head. Then he buried his free hand in her hair and pulled her in for a passionate kiss, though he was careful not to crush their daughter. The kiss surprised her, but she responded with the same enthusiasm after a moment. He came up for air after a few minutes. "Six fucking weeks," he growled before straightening up and leaving for the bedroom.

His parting words made her giggle. She pulled out her mobile and held down the Home button. "Remind me to buy lots of condoms after my six-week check-up," she said into the microphone. She pocketed her mobile after setting up the reminder.

She gazed at Minerva while listening for the washer's sounds. She could hear Sherlock cleaning up in the kitchen. She wondered, not for the first time, how long it would take Sherlock to get bored of domesticity and demand that he go back to Baker Street, with or without them.

She felt the suction on her breast slacken and she looked down. Minerva had fallen asleep again. She fixed her clothes before checking if Minerva's nappy needed changing. She was fastening the new nappy when Sherlock entered the room.

"You should lie down soon. You look tired," he said as he approached her.

She nodded. "Yep, that's my plan. I almost dozed off while I was feeding her." She turned to him. "How many loads of laundry have you done?"

"I'm on the second load. First load is already in the dryer."

"Great, thanks." She gently placed the baby in the crib. "Why don't you lie down with me too?" He began to protest, but she looped her arms around his neck. "We can make out until I fall asleep," she said in a seductive voice.

His eyes widened at her words and she had to stifle a laugh as he dragged her into the bedroom. There they lay until she couldn't return his kisses anymore. He laid her head on his chest and she finally fell asleep, listening to his heartbeat.

* * *

Seven weeks later, they had settled into a routine. Molly would wake up at 6 o'clock and find Minerva sleeping on her father's chest as he also slept in the burgundy armchair in the nursery. She would take the baby and unavoidably wake Sherlock. She would feed her and change her nappy as he took a shower. Then she would bring her daughter to the kitchen and make breakfast with the baby in her Moses basket. Sherlock would wander into the kitchen and take Minerva while Molly made coffee. They would then sit at the kitchen table where Molly ate breakfast and Sherlock drank his coffee, and they would be taking turns holding their daughter. He would talk to the baby while Molly cleaned up in the kitchen and took a shower.

Sherlock would leave for 221B Baker Street and meet with clients. Once his name was cleared and all charges had been dropped, Lestrade started bringing him cases again. He had also worked out a pay scale for his services and had also signed a consulting contract with New Scotland Yard. He would tend to his experiments between cases.

Molly would work on her journal articles while Minerva slept. In the afternoons, she would take her for a walk and meet with new mums in the nearby park. After a few hours of socialising, they would go home and Molly would make dinner while Minerva played in her basket.

Sherlock would arrive at six or seven o'clock, unless he had an ongoing case, and would sit with them at dinner, regaling her with the details in his cases. He would eat with her every three days.

She would either continue to work on her articles or watch telly while Sherlock played with their daughter. At bedtime, they would give Minerva a bath. Sherlock would play the new piece that he wrote after his daughter's birth until she fell asleep while Molly filled two bottles with her milk. Then, once Molly had fully healed, they would make love until she fell asleep.

After one such day, Molly stayed awake and caressed Sherlock's face. To her surprise, he didn't push her hand away. Instead, he placed his hand on her hip.

"Is something wrong?" he asked with a touch of worry in his voice. "Our vigorous activities should have tired you out by now." He smirked devilishly, making her blush. He sucked at her neck.

"Nothing's wrong. I'm curious, though."

His head snapped back up and he studied her. "Curious about what?"

She took a deep breath. "What are we?" He furrowed his brows, clearly having no clue of what she was talking about. "I mean, are we just fuck buddies? Or are we actually in a relationship now?" He didn't answer, but he narrowed his eyes at her questions. "Yes, we are raising our child. And we've settled into the kind of domesticity that I have always wanted to share with you, you know, as my boyfriend, my partner. You know that I love you. I wouldn't have done everything I've done for you if I didn't. But what about you? Do you love me?" She moved her hand to his chest, right where his heart would be. She wondered if his heart sang her name with each beat.

Sherlock studied her while he caressed her face. "Do you know that thinking about you calms me down and helps clear my mind?" Of all things she expected him to say, that wasn't one of them. She shook her head, as she had no idea she had that effect on him. "No one else could do that. Not my mother, not John, certainly not my brother. Only you, Molly." He paused to kiss her forehead. "Do you want to know why I came to your old flat that night?" She nodded, revelling in the feel of his hand on her cheek. "I needed to be with someone who knew me, someone who could see the real me. And I wanted to spend my so-called fake death anniversary with you. Simple as that." He kissed the tip of her nose and chuckled. "I bet you never figured out that I was your middle-aged cabbie."

Her eyes widened. "What?" she exclaimed. She immediately covered her mouth with her hand, even before Sherlock shushed her. They paused to listen to Minerva's cries, but she was quiet. He stood from the bed and headed for the nursery in his naked glory. He came back a few moments later and mimed that their daughter was still asleep. "What?" she whispered, the shock still in her voice.

He rolled his eyes as he climbed back under the covers. "Disguises, Molly. One of my special talents. I wanted to protect you from the reporters outside Barts. I was worried. Anyway, you also looked so sad when I knocked on your door. I knew part of it was work-related. But I was really, really hoping that you also missed me." He kissed her on the lips and his hand moved to her breast.

"I did," she whispered when they broke apart. "I missed you so much."

He smirked and cleared his throat before continuing. "I missed you too." He looked into her eyes and she saw only sincerity and affection in his blue-green eyes. "And before you ask, I slept with you because I wanted to. You were so beautiful that I couldn't contain myself that night." He kissed her mouth again.

"So why did you leave without a note then?" She hated to dredge up the past and ruin the moment they were sharing. But she had to know.

He sighed. "Because if I didn't leave, then I wouldn't have been able to leave your side ever again. And I wouldn't have been able to finish my mission and come back to you."

"OK. So why did you get mad at me when you found out that I was pregnant?"

"I apologise for my actions that night. You should know that I regretted everything that I said and did the moment I left your flat. But I was hurt that Mycroft knew and I didn't." She began to protest and remind him of their conversation, but he held up his hand. "You know you were right. Knowing that I was going to be a father would have distracted me and made me vulnerable. So thank you. You made the right choice." He smiled and she smiled back at him. He sighed before he continued. "I was also utterly terrified. I could barely manage my friendship with John and my relationship with you. How the hell could I manage fatherhood? How could I be a good father when my own father was cold and distant to Mycroft and me? After my father left, Mycroft attempted to be a father figure but, as you probably have noticed, he was a complete failure." She began giggling and, to her surprise, he joined her. His eyes softened. "And I was afraid that Moriarty's network would come after you if they figured out that I am the father of your child. So when Moran kidnapped you to force me to reveal myself, I knew that I had to kill him. It was the only way to ensure that no harm will come to you and our child ever again. I couldn't lose my family. I couldn't lose the woman I love and my child."

The look of utter shock on Molly's face stopped Sherlock from saying anything else. "Y-you l-love m-me?" She internally kicked herself. _Shit_, she thought. _Way to go, Molly._

He rolled his eyes but chuckled. He brought her face closer to his, their mouths barely touching. He looked into her eyes. "Yes, I love you, Molly Hooper," he whispered.

Tears welled up and she let them flow. But her heart was singing. "I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes." They shared another passionate kiss. "But you haven't really answered my question," she reminded him when they came up for air.

"We are _not_ fuck buddies. I care about you and I love you. You are the only woman who made me want to be a better man. I am willing to enter into a long-term romantic relationship with you. In fact, as you should have noticed, we are already in a romantic relationship. And because such relationships have never been my area, I am willing to be taught and guided by you and only you."

The appropriate words momentarily left Molly's brain, so she pulled him in for a deep and passionate kiss to express what she wanted to say. Then Sherlock was on top of her and was kissing his way down her flushed skin.

A loud and lusty cry from the next room interrupted them, however. Their gazes met and they chuckled. He reluctantly left the comfort of Molly's naked body against his own and pulled on his boxers and his blue dressing gown. Before he left the bedroom, he bent over her and kissed her lips. "I love you, Molly."

"I love you, Sherlock." Then he was off to the nursery to feed Minerva.

She was about to fall asleep when he came back into the bedroom and covered her body with his. They continued where they left off. Afterwards, Molly laid her head on Sherlock's chest and held him as she finally let her fears go.

* * *

_Thank you so much to everyone who read, followed, favourited, and/or reviewed my fic! I couldn't have finished this story without your love and support. I love you all!_

_I have at least a couple more ideas for Sherlock, Molly, and Minerva (thanks to Kathmak and actressen). Stay tuned for those!_

_So what did y'all think of the ending?_


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